Shadows of Before
by Vampykitty-kun
Summary: Jason wasn't able to save himself, yet here he was trying to give a broken bird back his wings. Harley was far from being a hero, but maybe in helping save someone she could salvage herself. Tim was falling to pieces and had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, except inside himself. SLASH, Pre-Red Robin deviation. Violence, language, sexual situations, and self mutilation. ONGOING
1. Chapter 1

Been toying with this idea over the last few days. As I've not only NOT forgotten about it, and have continue jotting it out in my mind, it's clearly here to stay and thus must be shared with the world.

Pre-Reboot. A 'what-if' scenario, pre-Red Robin. For purposes of this story, Stephanie, Bart, and Conner will stay dead. The fate of Bruce in this fic is to be determined.

Story contains slash. If that's not up your alley, turn the bike around and up the throttle.

PAIRINGS: Jason/Tim, one sided Joker/Harley, pre-death Bruce/Selena. Mentions of past Conner/Tim, Tim/Steph, and Jason/Talia. Hints of Dick/Damian (mostly from Damian's side and nothing strong due to current ages) and hints of Dick/Barbara.

Rated M for: strong language, sexual situations, violence, murder, and self-mutilation. (But with Jason as a main character, this should be a given, lol)

Reviews are loved and appreciated, but I'm just as content with Follows so I know there are people reading and waiting on an update

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Thunder cracked in the distance and the sky lit up with glittering sparks as the rain steadily fell in sheets upon the city. The sirens blared, echoing through the darkness, forever the constant wailing tune of Gotham. Really, it was a night typical in the broken city.

He drew in a sharp ragged breath, and released it shakily, watching as his breath frosted in the chilly air.

Civilians flitted through the streets below as the business men and women scuttled to the safety of their cars or taxis to return to their homes for the night. Likewise, those who were unfortunate enough to not have a ride on this dreary night ran with their jackets over their heads or umbrellas held high. As always, in a city with such a dark underworld as Gotham not even the rain could wash away the filth. Slowly but surely, the night life sprang into action. He watched as women, scantily clad, congregated together on the street corners below. They huddled together for warmth, in effort to not catch their deaths in the low temperature of this stormy night. The rata-tat-tat of an automatic firearm sounded in the distance, followed by a vehicle veering off the road. He watched as a streetlight four streets down flickered with resistance before burning out altogether and crashing to the ground. Atop the building he stood upon, he watched with tired eyes as a drug deal went down with no hesitation, no interruption, even as a GCPD squad car rolled past. On any normal night, he would be right in the middle of the nighttime chaos. He would be rushing in praying for survivors in the drive by wreck. He would be urging the women indoors, offering them safety at a shelter. He would be wrangling up the dealers and confiscating their goods to keep it off the streets.

But not tonight.

Not now.

He sunk to the ground, braced against the stairwell door atop the eight story hotel building, drawing his knees up to his chest. His heart raced, throat clenching, as he buried his face in his soaked denim clad knees. His breath quickened and he clenched his arms tightly as he willed his nerve to return. He was cold. Freezing. Dressed in nothing but a hooded sweatshirt, t-shirt, and jeans. Civilian attire. Nothing to keep the rain off his skin, or the heat within.

He could not go back.

He would _not_ go back.

He had officially hit an all-time low. He had lost everything, seemingly all at once. A father- _twice_… Stephanie… Bart… Conner… and now his home, his family, and his **LIFE**.

His _brother_– he hissed at the thought – had taken away the last shred of hope he had. Taken away the only thing he had left, the only thing holding him together amidst the chaos that had erupted without fail around him. He had taken away the only thing that reminded him that everything had all been real. That _they_ had been real.

The thunder crashed directly above, causing him to flinch, and wrap his arms even more tightly around himself. The rain showed no signs of letting up, at least not for several hours, and the chill was becoming unbearable. He blinked lazily as he glanced out at the city once more.

He regretted it instantly.

The hurt and yearning hit him just as hard as the car had hit the light post earlier. The Bat-signal glowed bright against the night sky and rain clouds. Surely _they_ would come soaring through the night in the next few moments with hopes of preventing whatever disaster that the Commissioner had been presented with. A whine reached his throat, and he clenched at it to stop it from escaping. He dug his nails in, urging the pain to become a distraction.

He did not want to see _them_.

He did not want to see Dick. Did not want to see the 'brother' that had discarded him after everything. Did not want to see the man that replaced him without a second glance. Replaced him with a child more lethal than most of Gotham's worst. Replaced him with the boy that had made an attempt on his life because he was not 'worthy' of being Bruce's son… of being Robin…

And he surely did not want to see the smug satisfied smirk upon the boy's face at having won.

He pulled himself up from his heap on the ground, clothes heavy, wet, and clinging to his body as he pressed himself against the door. He fumbled with the lock briefly before the door made a soft click, and he wrenched it open, feeling the rush of warmth course across his face. The door snapped shut behind him with a dull thud. He trudged across the tacky carpet the hall had to offer, settling himself in a far corner, with hopes that he would be shielded from prying eyes, at least until morning. He had no urge to be caught sneaking a free night in the shelter of the hotel, away from the bone chilling storm, and he hoped that the rain brought the night guard other worries that would keep him away from the top floor. At least for now.

Sleep would not come. This he knew. But here he would be warm. Safe from outside world, hidden from view, and shielded from the sight of the bat lighting up the dreary night sky.


	2. Chapter 2

The first few chapters of this story are admittedly not very eventful, and very Tim-centric. They put the story in motion, and gradually give the back story leading up to current events. I couldn't say for sure just how many chapters this story will be, but I think I'm in it for the long run, so bear with me This is the first time in a long time that I'm excited about a story, and going into it already have most of it plotted out.

I hope those of you who are reading enjoy the story.

This story is not edited by anyone other than me. I rewrite parts several times, at times reorganize parts, and re-read things every few paragraphs. Hopefully mistakes are at a minimum as I do try to be careful, so I apologize for any issues.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

He woke at the slamming of a door.

Tim pried his cheek from his damp jeans and willed his eyes to open. Briefly, he wondered where he was, heart rate escalating in panic as he struggled with his surroundings. He ran through pre-slumber events in his foggy mind. Rain, roof, _Batman_, hotel, hallway...

He shivered with recognition and understanding as he waited for the sounds of life down the hall to dissipate. He slipped his hand down into a pocket, pulling out an equally damp wallet, and took inventory. Twenty three dollars, forty five cents, debit card, state identification, library card. He would have to get to a computer, transfer funds, and cover his tracks. Twenty three dollars and forty five cents would not last him long, and he could not afford to have Dick tracking his every move with every swipe of his bank card. He would not give the man the pleasure of shadowing him. Tim could hide forever if he chose to. But Dick would not be searching yet. No, he was too forgiving, too trusting. He would let Tim disappear and calm down, recollect his thoughts. By the time the man realized that he would not be returning to the manor, any trace of him, any trail, would be cold. He felt a pang in his chest for Alfred, who would be left to pick up the pieces, whom he had left without a good bye. He had restrained himself. Alfred would have known, for Alfred always knew, and although Tim was confident that the man would not have tried to restrain him, he knew his resolve would have crumbled simply by looking into the man's sad eyes.

When he had made up his mind about leaving, he knew that nothing short of a quick severing of ties would do. Dick would have tried to stop him, by any means. He had already been almost desperate to help him. Alfred would plead silently with his eyes, guilting him into submission. Damian would have quite possibly been so unbearably smug and superior about the entire situation that he would have stayed and suffered through it all just to crush the boy's strong sense of victory. He knew his limits, and his resolve would have crumbled, despite the strong feeling of imprisonment the manor now held for him. Every inch of that house sparked painful memories. It was like the manor itself had become a tomb, and he hadn't been able to shake himself free of the feeling of death and dread in the air. The private 'funeral' had not helped, nor the events that had followed.

He had taken none of his personal effects, except the clothes on his back and his wallet. They would suspect nothing.

He staggered to his feet slowly, bracing himself against the wall, and padded over to the nearest window. Relief washed over him, and he slumped against the window frame. It was daytime, early he supposed, and the rain had ceased to fall. With a soft sigh, he made his way through the halls, and down the levels, stopping only when he reached the self-service laundry room provided for the hotel guests. He had stayed here once several years back with his father. Familiar territory at least. The room was vacant, and after checking it for cameras and finding none, he immediately pried the cold damp clothes from his body, piled a guest's forgotten clothes from within the dryer atop it, and chucked his own into the machine. He rummaged through the clothes, still vaguely warm, and held a pair of jeans up to his nude form. They ran small, but would do. Not chancing being discovered in the buff by staff, he slipped them on, shivering as the warm encased his chilled legs, and he tucked away his wallet. He leaned against the dryer as it rocked on its legs, relishing in the small amount of heat it put off and the steady clunk and putter the contents within made. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He could get through this. He only had to keep telling himself.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The 'funeral' had been a mess. The League had attended, and select friends of the Bat-clan. It was a service for Batman, Bruce Wayne was still alive as far as the rest of the world was concerned, and it was to stay that way. It was the only time Tim had been able to recall having so many people in the cave at once. Bruce simply would not have allowed it. The service was long, heartfelt, and to Tim it felt like the purpose of the whole event was to smother him. He had attended far too many funerals as of late, but at least they had made sense. This one was inane. Dick was being foolish.

Tim watched the service drone on with severe disinterest, simply staring. No one moved to comfort him. No one spoke to him, and he was content with this. Dick looked pained, and tired, and as things were coming to a close he had begun to cry silently. Damian looked... Distraught. The boy was pale, shadows lay beneath his eyes, and his aura of superiority had diminished. Alfred looked sick. The League fared no better it seemed, even Superman had tears in his eyes. It was funny really. Such an outburst of emotion for something so unnecessary.

Tim hadn't even realized he was laughing until all eyes gradually turned towards him, and then that only made him laugh harder. He clutched at his sides, willing the giggles to die down. He couldn't understand why no one else thought this scene hilarious. Dick's terrified stare was mimicked by several members of the League, before unanimously they decided the service was over, and they made a hasty retreat. Damian had looked ready to kill him for his outburst, his inner spark seemingly resurfacing. Superman made an attempt to approach him, but Tim had seen him coming, and had bolted to Alfred's side at the front of the cave for protection, muffling the last of his twitters. The last thing he needed was for the man to attempt to console him. He did not want to see those bright blue eyes shining with concern and sympathy. Eyes that were perfect replicas of Conner's. He had been doing enough grieving, and reopening that wound was not somewhere he had wished to go. As is, he still dreamt of him each night.

After the League departed, Alfred fell back on habits, and had gone upstairs to make a pot of tea. Tim sat in the large plush chair in front of the monitors, feeling Dick's stare bore into him. The man fidgeted with his tie and cuffs nervously. Tim had resisted the urge to roll his eyes. When Alfred returned with tray of tea and cups in hand, Dick seemingly regained his nerve and approached him, a look of determination gracing his weary face.

If he could have escaped right then, he would have.

"Tim? Are you… alright?" He started off softly, reaching to run a hand through the younger man's hair.

Tim flinched at the contact, and shifted away.

"When are we ever alright?" He snorted, gripping at his pant leg. He wished he could have begun laughing again, but the moment had passed.

"You know what I meant Kiddo." Dick sighed, shaking his head. "You scared us tonight Tim. You were so detached, and you _laughed_. You laughed at a funeral. _His_ funeral. Why?"

Tim stared at him curiously. His brother seemed desperate. He could see the pleading in his eyes, and a few chuckles bubbled up from his chest once more.

"Because this arrangement is a joke. It's ridiculous, pointless." Dick had looked at him like he had grown a second head. Alfred had just stared nervously as he poured them each a cup of tea.

"What- what do you mean?" Dick had seemed hesitant to ask, but Tim had been more than happy to get his point across.  
_  
_"Because, he'll be back. Bruce will be back." And Alfred tipped a cup over at that exclamation, shooting Dick a rather concerned, worried frown. Damian had looked intrigued. "So there was no point to tonight. He'll be back. He's Batman. He's just… lost right now." Tim, shrugged, and stood from the chair, passing everyone as he made his way towards the stairs. He left the cave before Dick could argue with him, returned to his room, and had hit the sheets without a second thought.

He feigned sleep when Dick had entered the room a mere twenty minutes later.

The days that followed the 'funeral had been no better.

Tim found that sleeping was hardly an option. The Bat-clan was no stranger to nightmares. But things had become ridiculous. If Tim wasn't watching his friends die, he was watching his family die, over and over again. He would wake up screaming, cold, yet sweating. If people weren't dying, he was with Conner, or Steph, sometimes even Bart, and when he woke he was so distraught that it had not been real, he found himself in hysterics and unable to breath.

He never dreamt of Bruce. Bruce was coming back, he was sure of it.

Sleep came in short spurts now, and only when he was too tired to hold off any longer.

Dick had refused to see reason, Alfred seemed to always be watching him, and Damian, convinced that Tim had lost his mind, took up carting around his katana unsheathed with him at all times, less Tim make an attempt on their lives. The child had openly told him this with that smug look upon his face.

After a few days, he had simply dropped the subject of Bruce's eventual, inevitable return. He knew when enough was enough, and Dick had become so increasingly unnerved that Tim feared he had been ready to have him committed. He never brought the subject up again, and neither did Dick. But that had not meant Tim believed his statement any less.

Outside, Gotham was a raging mess. The villains and criminals noticed the absence. It went on too long for them not to. They _knew_, and they were celebrating. Soon they would have a serious problem on their hands if Bruce did not return soon. Gotham needed its Batman.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim had left the hotel immediately after the dryer buzzed, snapping him awake from his half sleep pressed against the dryer, and he had managed to pull the steaming clothes over his head. He felt poorly about pilfering the pair of jeans, but as things stood, he could use the second pair of pants. He would not go back to the hotel again, not even if he was drenched once more. He could not afford to form habits so soon after his departure.

He hit the Gotham Public Library next. He pushed through the rotating doors, hood pulled up over his head, not wanting to risk anyone he knew as Tim, or Robin, recognizing him. He checked out a laptop from the front desk and found a quiet secluded corner, free from prying eyes, human and lens. It was a simple process with his knowledge. In no time at all he had established an alternate bank account with First National Bank of Gotham, under his Alvin Draper alias, and wired a substantial portion of his savings into it. The transfer would not show up in bank records, and the delay he arranged would show the funds disappearing from his account at a later date. This bought him valuable time. When Dick became aware of the mass withdrawal, he will have already missed him by several days.

Tim wiped the laptop's history thoroughly before returning it to the front desk and heading straight out the door.

He would have to retrieve his alternate identity's identification and paperwork from the local gym locker he had stashed it in weeks ago before moving further.


	3. Chapter 3

Taking a brief moment to be a total fan-boy… the new episode of Young Justice Invasion was so worth the wait! Was on the edge of my seat the whole episode, and was happy with some new findings. Won't spoil anything for those of you who have yet to have the time to sit down and watch it.

Anywho, it's going to start taking a bit more time for me to post chapters to this fic. Why? Because as of now, chapters are going to get longer, so it's a good thing!

As a side note… like I said at the beginning of this fic, I deviated from original plot. The universe now bends at my will, despite the fact that I will keep certain events cannon in this fic. My knowledge of the DC Universe is limited to whatever comics I own (which is plenty; old and new, mostly Nightwing/Robin/Red Robin/Red Hood stuff, but main Batman story arcs too.), things I've watched, and internet research.

Would still love to read some feedback you guys have about the fic, but I'm glad to see so many hits and watches on it thus far.

Hope you enjoy!

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The pickup had only taken a few moments to take place. Again, he walked into the building, hood up, just in case. He made his way to the locker, unfastened the lock, and stuffed the contents into his hoodie pocket. He did not replace the lock, and pocketed it too before leaving the premises.

First National Bank of Gotham was only located four streets away from the gym. Hood was left down for this visit. The clerks were skeptical about closing the account after seeing the current balance, but thirty minutes, and two managers later, he was walking out the doors, shiny new briefcase in tow. They had not been able to find a flaw with his identification, nor his account of course. He was flawless with his work. He had been smart, and had made the 'alternate' account a student savings. It made the mass withdrawal more plausible.

Tim turned into an alley, stripping off his hoodie as he went. He popped the case open just enough to empty his pockets, then sealed it tight, wrapping it within the discarded garment. It was Gotham after all, and even in the daylight the case made him a prime target. He was thankful that he did not have far to go.

He had decided on a safe house east of the bank. It was one Dick had established a few years back, when Nightwing was based in Blüdhaven, as a place to sleep and restock supplies when passing through Gotham, rather than returning to the Manor. It had not been used in well over a year, as there were safe houses all throughout Gotham, far closer to the problem areas. There was no telling what supplies still lingered in the location, but anything would be better than flitting through Gotham unequipped and without body armor. He doubted that he would still be using it as a home base by the time Dick began his search for him, but it would work as a temporary residence for the time being, and it was the perfect place to store his funds on a more permanent basis. It was doubtful that anyone would notice the leather case if he tucked it away just right, and he was all about cleanliness. It would be as though he was never there, so long as he dumped the trash on his way out when he abandoned the location. Their safe houses only alerted the cave and Oracle if a break-in was attempted, not when entered under standard procedure.

It was the basement of a local packaging company. The entrance hidden behind a false wall in the back of the storage warehouse. He easily avoided being seen as he slipped in, as a warehouse such as this had little need for security. The reinforced steel door behind the false wall was no issue, he already knew the passcodes. They all did, standard information within their close knit group. The door sealed shut automatically as he started down the stairs. It was pitch black as he inched down the stairwell, feeling the side walls as he went. The hall echoed the sound of his sneakers clunking dully against the steps. A door matching the first met him at the end, and again, he entered the proper pass codes. A sigh of relief escaped Tim's lips as the door popped open, and he stepped within, turning the lights on as he went. The fluorescent glow lit the enclosure brightly, and he was pleased to see that Dick had left the place tidy last he had sought shelter there. It was a simple open area shelter, forty by sixty feet. High ceiling, cement floors. Shower area mapped off in the far corner by curtains, drain in the floor. Stall toilet standing a few feet to the left. Pull out couch against the center wall, an industrial sewing machine to the left of it, mostly used for patch jobs. Mini fridge with microwave seated on top. The center of the space had black padded floors, no doubt installed specifically for acrobatic purposes. Typical Dick. A space heater and shop fan sat against the far right wall, to manage the room temperature during extreme seasons, and of course a plethora of cabinetry and counter space littered the remaining wall space. It wasn't much, but it was all he needed for now.

Tim was pleased to find that supplies were not particularly limited. Despite having been vacant for at least the last year, Dick had evidently kept it well stocked. Granted, everything was very much Nightwing's, but Tim could handle wingdings just as well as batarangs. Escrima sticks on the other hand he would not touch. He _refused_ to be another Nightwing, and he would either be forced to acquire a new quality staff, construct one, or rely solely on hand to hand combat for close range attacks. There was an abundance of medical supplies at the very least, and between all of the damaged or retired costumes in disarray within their cabinet, he was sure he could piece together something that would suit _him_ just fine. He would always be a Robin, regardless of what anyone else wanted.

Electronics would have to wait until he had a place to call his own, as he would have to be prepared to leave the shelter at a second's notice.

Tim had honestly thought about leaving Gotham all together. He really had. But after all of the chaos he had been through over the years, especially the earthquake and Gotham's period of 'No Man's Land', he was attached. The city was his home. Yes, he would run into Dick and Damian eventually, but so be it. By then they would have no hold on him any longer.

Vaguely Tim was aware that he had not eaten in the last twenty-four hours, but he was in no mood to leave the protection that the safe-house held to acquire groceries. If he got hungry enough, he was sure Dick had left some non-perishables somewhere in the kitchen area. Pushing hunger aside, he began laying out what materials he had to work with and began sketching out ideas. His choices were limited, as Dick mostly had a passion for blue over the years, stepping out in red on a limited basis, and detailed planning was necessary. His suit would have to primarily be black, if he hoped to have enough material.

With a sigh, he joined his project on the matted floor.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dick groaned and pressed his face into the pillow as he gripped the sheet beneath him. Alfred tutted behind him, sinking the needle into the man's flesh once more, weaving through and stitching.

"Perhaps if the young master was getting a substantial amount of bed rest, he would be more on alert and not come home with a wound that leads me to wonder if his opponent had been trying to fillet him." The man huffed as he put in the last few stitches, sealing Dick's shoulder wound.

The man gave a whine and pulled his lips into a pout. Alfred was secretly pleased that the cowl had been discarded prior to patching the man up for such a look appearing on Batman's face would be satirical.

"I get as much sleep as I can…" He sighed.

Alfred did not look convinced, but did not comment any further.

Damian snorted as he tossed himself into the chair beside him.

"I assure you that Grayson's problems do not lay with his bed rest. He is letting his mind wander elsewhere during battle, which is leading him to make imprudent mistakes, ending in otherwise avoidable injuries." The boy glared down at his mentor who barely suppressed his flinch.

"I can't help but be worried! Tim has never gone out without telling anyone he was leaving, let alone leave and not come back at all, neglect to call. No note left… and with the way he's been acting, who knows what he's up to. If that's not a cause for worry, then what is kiddo?"

"Tt… Drake has made his choices. He has evacuated the premises and given me the privacy I demanded and deserve. I see no cause for complaint. If he wishes to abandon his lesser position after I've usurped the Robin mantle from him, rightfully, that is his decision to make not yours."

"Damian-"

"Besides, Drake is clearly not of his right mind and has no business being a part of this arrangement anyhow, you said so yourself. Really he's done us all a great favor by retreating." The boy crossed his arms and snuggled into the back of the chair, a content smirk upon his face.

Dick frowned and shook his head, sitting up, rolling his injured shoulder gently.

"I never said that, not like that. All I said was for him to take some time to think about what he wanted, some time to gather his thoughts and recover from recent events. Perhaps seek some help. Lord knows he's lost so much more than the rest of us, and in such a small amount of time. That would shake anyone up." He sighed, stripping the remainder of the batsuit from his aching form. "I get that he might need some space, that it might seems as though we've been smothering him, that I've betrayed him, but I'm trying to do what's best for him. Running off isn't doing him any good. I know he'll be back in a few days, sooner with any luck, but that doesn't stop me from being worried. He's unarmed, with no radio or tracers. If he gets into trouble, I have no way up swooping in to save him. It's… unnerving. I don't like not knowing. I don't want to lose him too and with the destructive path he's been on the last few weeks, I'm unsure of how to handle him and make things right." He muttered, watching as the boy rolled his eyes.

"Whatever Grayson."

In interest of ending the conversation in a quick and tidy manner, Alfred cleared his throat loudly, bringing attention to himself.

"Would you two perhaps be interested in eating something before retiring to your beds? I happen to know that there is lobster bisque and grilled cheese sandwiches calling your names upstairs. I imagine that a few moments in the broiler will make do with the sandwiches, and reheating the bisque is no bother. Ought to only take a few moments" Alfred rose a curious brow at the boys.

Dick grinned, and bolted for the stairs before Damian even had a chance to leave his seat. The boy screamed angrily at him as he dove up the stairs after him.

With a heavy sigh, Alfred started after them.

Truth be told, he was just as worried as Dick, if not more…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim did not have a watch on him, nor did he have access to a window to access what time it was. He had been at work for several hours now, hacking away at the Kevlar and spandex Nightwing remnants and piecing them back together, with no end in clear sight. He had taken a break earlier to rummage through the 'kitchen' area for something of sustenance, settling on a granola bar and bottled water, but upon finishing the small snack he had returned straight to work. The Kevlar was tricky to cut, and the layers were a pain to stitch together. Everything had to be cut down, for Dick was a good deal bulkier than Tim, and taller, even in his early years. A suit was useless if not tailored specifically for the wearer, or the seams were less than perfect, and he wasn't taking any chances. It would be his life on the line.

After another hour of trimming and stitching, Tim decided to give it a rest for the night. Fabric scraps were gathered and thrown in the waste bin. Kevlar remnants thrown in a bag. Suit pieces that had not fallen victim to the teen were returned to the cabinet. Each and every pin was accounted for and returned to its box, and the shears were returned to their proper drawer. The suit was far from completion, but he was off to a great start. He fought back a yawn and stripped away his clothes, folding each piece before he set them in a small pile on the counter. He ran a hand through his mussed hair and sauntered over to the showering area, praying for heated water. To his dismay, the showerhead kick started with a ragged noise, and then shot out cold rust tinted water. He rocked back on his heels to avoid the spray, and leaned against the cement wall, shuddering at the chill that assaulted his bare flesh. He held out for a few minutes, but the only difference the wait made was in the color of the water which now ran clear. The temperature was just as low as before as he forced himself under the freezing spray of water. He washed quickly, quivering as he scrubbed, the temperature causing his skin to tense and bump up. By the time he was finished, his fingers were numb but at least he felt clean.

He wrapped himself in some thick towels before pulling back the curtains and racing towards the heater. He pulled it towards the couch and set the thermostat to eighty before retrieving his clothes and bundling himself back up. A cold shower was never pleasant, and it left him missing the large comforting bathrooms back at the manor, where the water was always the perfect temperature. Tim flipped the light switch, surrounding himself in darkness, and made his way back across the enclosure towards the couch. He was glad that besides the floor mat, the center of the safe house was bare of all furniture, so he had nothing to trip over. He located a few blankets underneath the couch, and he threw them over himself as curled into the cushions, not bothering to pull out the bed. He balled one of them up and used it as a pillow of sorts, burying his face into it with a sigh. The blankets, despite however long they had been laying under the safe house couch, still smelled like the manor and Alfred's choice of detergent. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself and drew in a deep breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on the warmth spilling back into his body courtesy of the heater.

His throat clenched tightly, against his will, and he bit back the sob that threatened to escape it.

It was going to be a long, fitful night.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Two weeks from the day of the funeral, the residents of Wayne Manor were in no better of a state. It had not taken long for the scum of Gotham to realize that Batman was not coming for them. As the days rolled on, more and more chaos erupted in the streets. It was getting to the point that crime was starting to spill into the streets in broad daylight. Dick was exhausted, lucky to get three hours of sleep each night if possible. He had returned to patrol just three days after the funeral. Gotham had not been able to wait any longer. It had taken Tim an additional two days before had been able to pull himself out of bed with enough energy and will to go out as Robin. Damian was a raging beast because he had been forbidden from assisting their efforts by Dick who genuinely feared for his safety. That did not stop the boy from making attempts at sneaking out though, not at all. Dick had been forced to sedate him on more than one occasion.

Dick was fighting with more vigor and determination than ever. He had changed. He was no longer happy and carefree outside of costume. The stress and worry was ruling him, and Gotham was not shaping up even with their efforts. Without Batman, the city was in shambles. The citizens no longer feared Nightwing and Robin, if they ever really had. In a moment of weakness, Tim had suggested that Dick go out as Batman, even if just for one night, to restore order. He had regretted it instantly upon seeing the man's pained expression. Dick declined quite verbally, and seemed shaken the rest of the evening. Perhaps it was all for the best. After all, Tim hardly wanted to see Dick in the suit, pretending to be something he wasn't, and never would be.

Tim himself was in a similar state of distress. He found himself unable to concentrate on patrol. He made foolish rookie mistakes that often cost Dick and himself more pain and suffering than need be, and Dick was noticing. Nightwing began watching his every move, in and out of costume, and Tim did not like the extra attention, not one bit. It only unnerved him further. He began hiding in his room when home, locked behind the oak door, away from prying eyes. Meals were eaten in silence, with the only occasional chit chat coming from Dick and Damian, and the occasional words of wisdom from Alfred.

Things only got worse as time grew on.

One night of patrol was particularly bad. Tim's screw up allowed their target to escape. He was ashamed of it enough as is when Nightwing had chosen to lay into him. He had not taken it well, and the confrontation had ended in a violent brawl that only stopped when Damian interrupted it. Alfred had sent the boy after them upon hearing the situation over the com links. To make matters worse, the boy was overly smug about the whole situation, and because he could, proceeded to place blame on him for the entire night's disruption.

From then on out, Tim stopped eating dinner with the family, and much to Alfred's dismay, began to eat within the confines of his room. He avoided Damian like the plague, and only tolerated Dick during patrol. His only source of socialization became Alfred. He felt like he was being smothered in his own home.

Then, the Arkham breakout occurred, inmates being freed by Black Mask in a transport gone wrong. Riots began. Big name criminals walked down the street in broad daylight. Try as they might, they could not restore order.

Things became so unbearable, that Dick called in all of their reinforcements. In no time at all, a vigilante could be spotted left and right. It was counterproductive. It made patrol all the more difficult. People began to butt heads. New alliances were formed, and old ones shattered. Stress levels skyrocketed.

And just like that, it all changed.

Suddenly, criminals began to turn up dead all throughout Gotham. Those lucky enough to survive spoke of the Batman disrupting their plans and devastating their numbers. At first, they thought it was simply fear toxin bring old fears to the surface, as tox screens showed the gas in their systems, but all too soon things came to light. The notes started appearing with the bodies.

_'I AM BATMAN'_

Although Dick remained oblivious to the extremity of the situation, it had taken Tim no time at all to realize what was going on, who was responsible, and _why_.

Only one person could be behind it all. Only one person would be plowing through Gotham, using Batman's name, using Batman's weapons, and using Batman's tactics. Only one person knew at this extent how Batman functioned… and only one person could bastardize everything Bruce stood for with guns, excessive force, and murder.

Jason had returned from his hiatus, and was ripping through the criminals like there was no tomorrow. He had clearly watched as Gotham slowly deteriorated, silently waiting for Dick to step up to the mantle and bring the city back to order. When it never happened, he had decided to take matters into his own hands. It was too obvious, when you knew what to look for. Dick was clearly far more tired than he looked, as even when Tim provided the facts he had not automatically assumed that the horrors were being committed by the rogue ex-Robin

Again Tim tried to make Dick see reason. Tried to get him to understand that Gotham needed a Batman, but the man was unwilling to listen, and shrugged him off, choosing instead to continue fighting a losing battle alongside their many allies.

Tim was disgusted. Disgusted that the city was crumbling around them, disgusted that Dick refused to do anything to resolve things, disgusted that Jason was out ruining the Batman legacy by doing everything against what his mentor stood for… and he was disgusted to admit to himself that it was _working_.

Since the arrival of the 'Batman of Horrors', things had slowly begun to tone down. The fear was back in Gotham. It made Tim sick, sick with guilt, as for the first time he realized that what they did was not a solution. It was maintenance.

They could keep the average criminals at bay, arresting them, institutionalizing them, and getting them off the streets. Wherever they were carted off to, they stayed. Some questionables would be too scared to follow in their footsteps for fear of the Batman, but there would always be others who would surface, and they would put them away where they belonged as they crawled out of whatever holes they lived in.

But then there were the monsters… the lot that time and again were causing mass destruction and spreading death. The types such as the Joker, and Two-Face, who always managed to escape from Arkham no matter what security and types of confinement they were placed in. It was those big names that were the true threat to Gotham, and thus far they had never been able to control them. They would never stop, and over the years, they had succeeded in making it personal for each and every one of them. Every big name criminal seemed to live to fight Batman, to destroy Batman, and obliterate all that he held dear. Someway, somehow, they would always come back to haunt them no matter what incidents occurred or where they were confined. They would not stop until they died.

The only one willing to take that step was Jason.

Tim knew all too well why they did things the way they did. He knew why they did not kill, and why they chose to lock criminals away. It didn't make excepting that there was never any end to it any easier though. Not when it was always their family and friends that suffered for it. But they had chosen their paths.

Tim had made up his mind when Dick had refused once again to see sense. He donned the cape and cowl hesitantly, all the while wishing Bruce had made a return by now. He refused to look at himself in the mirror as he left the cave, stopping only briefly to leave a note just in case he was missed during his absence.

His first order of business had been Jason. It had had to be done. He would not have been able to stand by and watch the man taint Bruce's image any longer, all the while doing what they dare not do themselves. It was his fault that Jason was on the streets murdering at will. Those deaths were all on his hands, even if Jason would have escaped on his own eventually.

In hindsight, going after him alone had admittedly been one of his rasher ideas, and he had paid for it. The batarang Jason had lodged in his chest would have killed him if he had not been wearing one of Bruce's suits. Tim wanted to believe that perhaps Jason secretly knew the suit would offer him some protection from the attack, but he knew that was wishful thinking. The shattered pieces of the batarang did quite enough damage regardless. Enough so that he had had to be rescued in the end by _Damian_ of all people. Damian, with a bullet to the chest, in _Robin_ gear, adding insult to injury.

By the end of that night, no one could be sure if Jason was living or not, Tim was laying on Alfred's medical table, and Dick was Batman.

When Tim awoke the next morning, he supposed that he should be content, all things considered. Although Jason had fallen from a great height, his body was nowhere to be found, meaning he had likely lived to see another day. He himself was injured, and it would take some time for him to recover, but he was alive… and Dick? Dick had finally caved. Dick was the _current_ Batman. If anything had been a success the previous night it was showing the stubborn man just how much Gotham needed a Batman, and any length of time without one would be cause for chaos. Tim was sure that Dick being Batman would be a good thing. He soon found out that he was mistaken…

With both Tim and Damian down for the count with their injuries, Dick went out on his own. As Batman, the nights were much easier than they had been as Nightwing. Having known Bruce for so many years, Dick was able to match the persona almost flawlessly. In just three days' time he was able to clean up most of the city, with the help of the visiting friends. They had been unable to track down a few of the big names, but that was to be expected. Their visitors slowly returned to their own lives, leaving the city in Dick's hands.

Gordon was relieved. Granted, the cell blocks of the GCPD were filled, Blackgate was complaining about the massive flood of inmates, and Arkham was slow to repopulate, but he felt safer with Batman lurking in the darkness.

Damian acted like himself, despite his injuries. He played things off like they were nothing, despite having been shot, and walking around with a bruised lung. When Tim finally left their hospital wing on day four, Dick found the time to pull him aside and lecture him about how reckless he had been, and how he had, although unintentionally, put everyone else in danger. He then had hovered for a moment before embracing Tim tightly, telling him to never do it again. All Tim managed was a scowl, before he stomped his way upstairs, joining Alfred in the kitchen.

The next few days blurred together in Tim's mind. Life was pretty mundane. He ate meals with the family once again, but conversation was forced. He still felt the eyes stabbing into the back of his head when he wasn't paying attention and it left him just as unnerved before. Damian resumed his absolute dislike of all things Tim, and even took to pointing out how weak he had been, having to be rescued by an injured child. When Tim had reached his breaking point with the boy, he had slammed him up against the wall with a roar. Conveniently, Dick had chosen just that moment to return home. The smug look on Damian's face as Dick tore into him would haunt his nightmares.

"What in the hell has gotten into you?!" Dick had cried in outrage in a startlingly accurate Bat-voice, grabbing Tim's wrist and prying him away from the younger boy.

To be truthful, Tim wasn't so sure himself, and he had neglected to respond. Instead he had retrieved his arm from the Not-Batman-Batman, and had hurried up into the manor seeking safety in his room. He had thrown himself under the blanket, not bothering to change, with them pulled tightly over his head. He had slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning, nightmares galore. Looking back, he figured he should have seen what happened the next evening coming.

Tim had feigned sleep well through the day, and only left the shelter of his room when he could no longer stand his protesting stomach, hunger pains getting the best of him. He had found the kitchen void of life, and a plate resting in the microwave for him. He did not bother leaving the kitchen, and instead scarfed down the food ravenously right there, barely taking the time to taste his mashed potatoes and sliced turkey. After tossing his plate in the sink, he made his way to the cave.

And then his world crashed down around him.

"Why is he wearing that?" Tim had frozen at the bottom of the stars, voice sounding an octave higher than typical.

Dick, fully clad as Batman, had been unable to suppress his flinch before turning to meet Tim's wide eyes. Damian was less subtle, and turned to him arms crossed and smirking in satisfaction. The boy stood proudly next to 'Batman' decked out in custom Robin gear. Tim felt his heart rate skyrocket as he stared at the two.

Dick removed the cowl and sighed, stepping towards Tim. Perhaps Damian was smart enough to know when to not interfere, as the boy held his position, and his tongue.

"Tim… listen to me-"

"I asked you a question!" He snapped, eyes locked on the red tunic the child was sporting.

"And I'm answering it if you'd let me." The man rubbed at a temple, taking in a deep breath. "Tim, you're not right. You haven't been for a while. You've had us all seriously worried about you since- well, since Bruce died. You've become increasingly detached from your surroundings. You become manic at the slightest provocation. You're jumping into hostile situations without thinking ahead, and you've made some serious mistakes in recent that could have easily cost you, or any one of us our lives." Dick had pleaded with his eyes for him to understand.

"You're firing me." It was a statement, not a question.

Dick let out a pained whine.

"Tim, please understand. You need to take some time off to pull yourself together, to recover. You're not fit for duty right now. You need… help-"

"Firing me and planning to put me _away_ too? Yeah, you're really trying to help Dick!" Tim snarled, backing up against the stairs.

"I said nothing about putting you away Tim! But you do need help, you need to talk to someone. Bottling everything up is doing nobody any good. You're only hurting yourself. Take some time off, rest. You have had a really rough time as of late. You've lost so many people dear to you. That kind of trauma is enough to make anyone lose it. You lost your father, Steph, Bart, Conn-"

"STOP!" Tim cried, clenching his fists at his side. "Just- just stop!"

Tim's face was mortified, twisted in rage and anguish as he gaped at Dick. He was shaking, and on the brink of a panic attack. Dick could see it coming, and it tugged at his heart.

"Tim, I'm not firing you. Think of it as a vacation. Take this time to pull yourself together, take the time to grieve. When you have recovered from this shock to your system, I'll happily welcome you back with open arms." Dick smiled weakly. "I'm Batman now, as much as I hate admitting it. Damian will be my Robin, he needs the experience, and the moral values. When you're ready to come around… I could sure use a Nightwing."

And that is when something clicked. Dick was removing the past. He was severing all ties Tim had to it, removing it like a malignant mass. Dick would never let him don the Robin suit again. Dick no longer found him worthy of the title. He valued the son of the Bat for the position more than he cared about Tim's attachment to the roll, all the work he had put into it over the years. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest and breath quicken.

"_Nightwing_? " Tim spat the name out venomously, and watched as Dick's eyes widened. "Nightwing?! I don't WANT to be Nightwing! You can't just decide that for yourself! You're _replacing_ me, giving the last thing I have in my life that I hold dear to a vicious holy terror who has tried to _murder_ me for the sole purpose of overthrowing me!" He screamed, the corners of his eyes burning as he glared at his 'brother'.

"Tim-"

"Don't 'Tim' me!" He roared, taking two steps back up the stairs. Dick moved toward him instinctively with this action, causing the younger to stiffen at his approach.

"Tim, please-"

"PLEASE?! You're going to beg me to accept this? Well I won't! I can't!" At this point, Tim had slipped into hysterics. "He wouldn't want this! He wouldn't let this happen, he WON'T let this happen. When he comes back he'll make this right! He wouldn't take that away from me!" and as soon as the words left his mouth, Tim had regretted them.

Dick's face morphed from worry, to fear. He had slipped up, brought up the taboo subject again, and now he would pay for it. Tim felt the chill rush through his body as the man took hesitant steps toward him. Damian bristled at this action, and drew his sword, holding it at the ready.

"You… you still believe that Timmy?" Dick's voice was serious, and laced with concern. It made Tim's dinner consider making a break for it, and he fought the urge determinedly.

Yes… he still very much believed that Bruce would return.

The question was, why didn't Dick?

Tim only stared at the man, watching his slow approach, before he bolted up the stairs, seeking the shelter of his room away from prying eyes. The looks they had been giving him…

Tim locked the door, and pushed the dresser in front of it. He did not bother to turn the light on. He ripped the blankets from his bed and slung them around himself tightly before he collapsed in a heap in the far corner of the room, burying his face in his knees. He could hear Dick at his bedroom door, begging to be let in, but he pushed it to the back of his mind as the sobs broke free from his throat.

Tim was not sure when the man had decided to give up, but after some time he was aware that the pounding at his door had ceased, and Dick was no longer standing behind it. He could have gotten through the door if he had really wanted to, Tim knew this. He wasn't sure whether or not he should be relieved that he had been left alone, or crushed that Dick hadn't had enough nerve to try.

He had been betrayed by the one person he had never expected, and it hurt, more than he could have imagined… and that was not something Tim was ever going to forget.


	4. Chapter 4

I apologize for the wait I haven't been able to focus the last few days.

Top wisdom teeth decided to show up and have a violent party in my mouth. Jaw bone has felt like it's been slowly crushing itself to death, and that makes for poor concentration while typing.

If this chapter doesn't flow as well as the previous ones, well, at least you know why. This was not written in a few long sittings, it was written in a plethora of tiny bits. Not fun, not fun at all…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim awoke with a gasp, tears rolling down his cheeks. With a frustrated shout he leapt from the couch, whipping the blankets angrily to the floor, before collapsing onto the padded mat.

It wasn't fair, not at all.

He had done nothing to deserve this torture.

Tonight it had been Conner's turn once more to die. Conner always hurt the most, hit the hardest. He had had something special with the cloned boy. They had been so close, thought so alike, and truly enjoyed each other's company. Conner had not deserved to die. His life had been so short. He had been so understanding, so loving. They had never been an 'official' thing, but they had sure had their moments. Enough to make it count and enough to have made them both have their moments of guilt in regards to their girlfriends at the time. Only two people other than themselves were aware of how tight their bond had been, Bart, and Dick.

Making matters worse, Tim felt as though he had not slept long at all, though he had no real way of knowing. He had left his watch behind at the Manor purposely, in case it had a tracer built within. He had kept what he had brought along with him at a minimum, and as leaving had been a last second decision, he had not had the time to take the thing apart and piece it back together, nor the right mindset. He was going to have to purchase a clock of some sort, and soon, if he ever hoped to get a steady routine going.

With a sigh, he stretched back against the mat before wiping his face with the back of a sleeve. He had not had a proper workout in nearly a week, and as things stood, that probably wasn't a good thing. Body condition would be of more importance now than it had ever been. So, he set out to change that. At the very least, it would get his mind off of his nightmares, and get him back on the road to normalcy.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Entry #172 – Vacated Nest, Day 002_

_Drake left the residence approximately forty-three hours ago, according to the video feed, at 3:27pm. No note was left behind, nor was Pennyworth informed of his destination. No personal artifacts accompanied him other than the garments upon his person, making his initial departure no cause for concern. However one of this household does not vacate unannounced, disappear for an extended span of time, and not establish communication within a twelve hour window. Upon investigation, it was concluded that he was not wearing a tracer, and had left all radio devices up in his dwelling. Therefore one must conclude that he has, metaphorically, 'flown the coop'._

Drake was not of sound mind prior to his sudden departure. Clearly he was suffering from paranoid delusions caused by extreme, repetitive, mental trauma and boundless emotional distress. His inability to accept Father's death as fact rather than fiction adding to his mental turmoil. One can assume that the decisive act leading up to his sudden abandonment of this household was my ascension to the Robin mantle upon Grayson's determination of Drake's increasing psychosis, something that quite frankly should have occurred ages ago upon my arrival in Gotham, as I am far more proficient in _all__ departments than he. Nevertheless, taking my rightful place at Grayson's side seems to have been the final act to push him over the edge._

I have enjoyed his absence fully, for there is no longer a constant unhinged annoyance shadowing my every move, and I have had the full attention of the household residents. Everything is as it should be, and yet I am unable to rest easy as Drake's disappearance is hindering Grayson's ability to focus whilst on patrol, causing me to have to pick up the slack and alert him of his shortcomings to keep the man alive. His emotions make him self-destructive and sloppy, something that never got the best of father. Time will only tell if Grayson can handle the mantle of the bat, but as things stand, he is clearly inadequate for the position. However, out of present choices, Grayson is as good as Gotham is going to get, and I will continue to watch his back and knock sense into the man.

_-/-/-/-/-/-/- End log*_

Damian sighed and rubbed at a temple as he stretched back in his chair. He glared at the screen in annoyance. He could care less that Tim had disappeared, for he strongly _disliked_ the former Robin, but it was Dick's worrying and fears about the teen that had him on edge. They made Dick sloppy, which made him an easy target, resulting in him worrying and feeling the need to guard the older man.

It was not natural for Robin to have a higher performance rate than Batman, and Dick would need to shape up or risk Gotham falling back into chaos.

This was of course, all Timothy Jackson Drake's fault, and if Damian got a hold of him, he best pray that Dick was in the vicinity to save him from acquiring a plethora of broken bones. Damian would not kill him. No, that would upset his overly emotional mentor even further.

Absolutely counterproductive, no matter how tempting…

With a sigh, the child stood from his desk and left the solitude of his room, choosing to see how breakfast was progressing in the kitchen below.

He kicked Tim's door as he passed it for good measure.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim sat shivering as he worked silently on his costume. His long overdue workout had left him with a dull ache, feeling severely unclean afterwards. The cold shower had been a necessary evil, and the heat was cranked up once more afterwards to ease the chill in his bones. He was going to enjoy relocating when the time came. He wasn't sure how long he would be able to stand icy showers that left his hands stiff and sore long after returning them to warmth.

He worked diligently at his stitching, using both the machine and hand stitches to secure each seam and layer. It was times such as this that he wondered just how Alfred put up with all of them, as costume repairs were frequent for all of them, especially Dick.

After putting in a handful of hours, Tim sat back in his chair with a pleased smirk, admiring his handiwork. It was far from the perfection produced by Alfred, but he was more than content with the end results. The suit was primarily black, something he had been unable to avoid with what materials he had to work with, but had a stylized 'redbird' figure across the front. Similar to Nightwing's 'bluebird', but covering the length of his torso rather than just his chest, and was a modified pattern. The 'bird' climbed up towards the shoulders and striped down the arms, fingers and all. He had added Bat-style gauntlet to the arms, so as to avoid too many similarities to Nightwing by breaking the color pattern, and giving him his armor boost. The boots were mid-calf, tabi style. Accompanying the costume, was a floor length, high necked black cape, of which he had considered modifying the corresponding cowl to suit his needs, before deciding against it. Tim was not batman, nor did he desire to be, and any form of cowl would make him feel like he was trying to replace him. He had already felt out of place wearing it before Dick had taken over the mantle. So he had simply removed the cowl all together.

He had been glad to see Bat remnants lurking in the cabinets with the Nightwing gear, after initially overlooking them. He assumed that Dick must have stored them at this particular safe house after his stint as Batman, when Jean-Paul had been removed from power. The gauntlets could come in handy, and he always had been the most armored of the Robins. The cape was much heavier and longer than he was used to, but practice would make perfect. He adapted the lone utility belt present to suit his size and individual needs, and stocked it full of necessaries. He would use one of Nightwing's less common, rejected masks. Unfortunately, they were all far from being the high tech ones the Bat-clan had been using in recent years, but they were better than nothing, and the main purpose of the masks were really to protect their identities in the end.

He would still have to acquire his primary weapon, one way or another.

Tim was jolted from his musings with the sound and clenching of his stomach, and he frowned. He would have to make a supply run, and it would have to count. He did not have a vehicle, and he could not risk making a second run to a store so close to his current home base.

He put away all remaining work scraps and remnants, and quickly folded up his suit, setting it under the couch for safe keeping. He swapped pairs of jeans, and brushed his hands through his hair in mock effort of untangling the damp locks. It had gotten longish as of late, longer than he had ever kept it in the past, but that could work to his advantage with this new identity. Besides haircuts were something best left to the professionals, and that was not on the top of his list of priorities right now.

Tim retrieved his briefcase from its resting place, and opened it. He thumbed through a band of bills, and took five hundred dollars from the small stack. He replaced the remainder within the case with the rest of his cash before slipping it back behind the couch.

Tim was far from being at ease as he left the confines of the safe house, despite slipping out just as unnoticed as he had slipping in the day before. He kept his hood up, and head down as he walked down the streets.

His plan for this trip?

Pick up a snack, acquire a few changes of civilian clothes, grocery shop, and pick up a new digital watch…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dick lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He wished Tim would come home, call, email, anything… just to let him know that he was okay. He regretted not talking to Tim more. He was angry with himself for not consoling the boy and choosing to instead leave him to calm down on his own as he had seemed to want.

He should have never assumed that Tim had stop believing that Bruce was coming back. But how was he to have known that he hadn't just been in shock? Tim had unfortunately experienced the death of loved ones several times throughout his years as Robin, especially as of late, but Bruce's had affected him in an entire different, traumatizing way. Looking back, Dick regretted not forcing him to seek help earlier. Perhaps if he had, Tim would not be missing, hiding from him, doing god only knows what. The only comfort he had was that Tim was in civilian clothing, and unarmed, which at the very least made him no target of Gotham's major criminals still at large. Most worrisome of all, The Joker, who had seemingly disappeared without a trace.

The man let out a whine and slammed his fists at his sides into the mattress.

"Punishing the bed you oh-so-appreciate will not ease your frustrations, I assure you Master Richard." Alfred had a faint smile gracing his lips as Dick jolted upright in the bed.

"Y-yeah…right. Sorry Alfred." He gave a nervous laugh, and rolled off the bed and onto his feet. "What's for lunch? Damian behaving? His been awfully quiet, and in his case that could be a bad thing…"

The man regarded Dick carefully before giving a sad sigh and resting a hand on the man's shoulder.

"I too am worried about young Master Timothy, but it would be wise to keep calm and carry on. Regardless of state of mind, Master Timothy is an intelligent, resourceful, young man. He is upset, and after of his recent hardships and tragedies, he is simply unwilling to let go of yet another loved one. He shall eventually come to his senses on the matter, in which I unfortunately expect quite the emotional breakdown. You boys tend to forget that your comrades, as well as yourselves, are just children. Perhaps not you any longer from a technical point of view, but ALL of you boys will forever be children in my mind. I have repeatedly over the years voiced my opinion about having young ones out in the field, but I have been continually ignored by both Master Bruce and said children. You are all at times reluctant to take the advice of a wise old worrywart of a man I'm afraid."

Dick smiled widely at the old man before embracing him tightly.

"Thanks Alfred. I needed that…"

"Any time Master Richard." He returned the hug briefly before pulling away. "Now, to answer your questions, there is a lovely smoked salmon on the dining room table, and Master Damian is currently eating while simultaneously going over reports. How I wish that boy would leave his work down in the cave…" He trailed off while walking from the room with a slightly more content Dick.

Alfred couldn't keep him from worrying, but he sure knew how to make things feel better.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim groaned in protest. Doing ALL of his shopping at once had been a poor choice, the bags in hand straining his neglected muscles.

He stopped for a rest several times before arriving back at the warehouse. He set the bags aside temporarily to do a quick check of the area, to ensure that security had not increased since he had left, and he could still slip in unseen even with a plethora of bags to drag inside. After clearing the area, he made his way inside, and quickly slipped behind the false wall and locked doors, arriving back 'home' at last.

He tossed the bags of new clothes and shoes upon the couch before heading to the kitchen area to unload the food first. He had not bought much to eat, with no way to cook at his current location, but it would suffice for the time being. A half-gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, some soup cups, fruit, and salad supplies. If he got enough of a craving for meat, he could always buy some jerky at a corner store.

He had bought a new watch, which he had opened and set in store. It was digital, damage resistant, compact, and water proof. It had cost a pretty penny, but he would only end up constantly replacing a lesser model due to damage. It was worth it.

He was glad to have a few changes of clothes now, so he wasn't risking going out in the same thing each day. He still had no good way of washing them, but he figured that hand washing them and hanging them near the heater was a tolerable option.

He reached into a bag retrieving two cans of spray paint from within, a deep metallic red, and spent the next half hour meticulously painting his stock of wingdings. With no ventilation in the sealed room, he stopped after a third of them were finished, opting to not fumigate the room any more than necessary.

He was itching to go patrol, but given that he had only been MIA for two days, it probably wasn't the best idea. Dick would likely be keeping an eye out for him during his runs. He opted instead to get used to his new costume indoors and adjust to its heavier weight, going through his typical work out, and testing his mobility.

Overall, it wasn't too drastic of a difference. The length and weight of the cape made acrobatics more challenging, but not impossible. Perhaps he would adjust it at a later time, once he was settled in a more permanent location and could acquire proper supplies under the radar. What counted was that he was well protected, and with running through Gotham solo, he was going to need it.

He braved the shower once more afterwards, grimacing as the ice cold water beat down on his body. The water was cold that each time he showered he still felt unclean, unable to spend an adequate amount of time under the water to give himself a nice scrub down. Still it was better than being sweat drenched and salty skinned, and at least his hair was clean.

He ate soup for dinner that night, heated in the microwave. The hot chicken noodle soup aided in the reclamation of his body warmth. He turned in early for the night, choosing to pull the couch bed out this time. He threw the bags of clothes on a counter, not bothering to put them away as he would at some point need them easily accessible. The cushions acted as suitable pillows and he was able to stretch out beneath the blankets instead of being forced to curl up in an awkward position. It was only nine, but it seemed like a rather long day between the costume construction, two training sessions, and his trip outside to the stores.

He had not needed to wait long.

He was asleep within minutes even with the frame of the couch bed digging into him in spots.

He was not expecting to sleep soundly.

He had not had that pleasure in a long while…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Tim… we need to talk." Dick's voice was low as he spoke to barricaded door of Tim's room.

The teen did not bother answering from his curled up position in the corner where he had been all night. He had not slept, unable to get the image of Batman-Dick and Robin-Damian leaping through the city out of his mind. He wondered just how many people had needed to be carted off in an ambulance after a Damian beat down rather than riding off in a police cruiser. Had anyone died? It was no secret that Damian was a trained killer. He could not understand why Dick would make the risk after knowing the boy such a short time.

"Please Timmy… open the door. Come down to breakfast. Let Alfred and I know what's going on. We only want to help you. Keeping all of this- whatever it is, bottled up, isn't healthy. We can't help you with what you're going through if you don't talk to us.

Go down to breakfast, deal with the worried, criticizing, frightened stares? Sit with the man that replaced him, thought him crazy at this point, and the demon child that was so smug and arrogant about his personal victory?

Tim would rather starve.

The man behind the door sighed, and rested his forehead against the cool wood.

"Tim, Bruce wouldn't want you to be like this. He wouldn't want any of us to lose it over him! Please, be reasonable –"

Tim acknowledged him with the violent crash, as the glass he threw at the door shattered upon impact. Dick leapt back at the sound, and stared at the door with wide eyes, shifting from side to side as he struggled with what to do next. Instead of pursuing the situation further himself, he opted for the easier, and quite possibly the only approach that would not spark another destructive reaction.

He left, and sent Alfred on up.

The soft knock on the door had Tim suppressing a half defeated groan.

"Master Tim?" Alfred's calm voice sounded from behind the door.

With a dejected sigh, he rose to his shaky feet, and approached the dresser barricade.

"…what is it?" He sounded tired, defeated, and depressed.

"Might I come in and have a chat?"

His shoulders slumped, and reluctantly, he slowly pulled the dresser aside, and gently opened the door. He was agitated that Dick would stoop so low that he would use the old man to get his way, but he was never able to disappoint Alfred. He was the only one with a sturdy head on his shoulders, and he had enough love and compassion for everyone.

One could not get mad at him, nor treat him poorly.

Tim retreated to his bed, pulling his knees back up against his chest as the man stepped into the room, grimacing at the shards of glass littering the floor, before sitting on the foot of the teen's bed.

"I believe that there is no need to tell you just how worried we are about you, Master Tim." Alfred frowned when he was only met with silence. "You must understand… the way you have been acting, speaking, as of late is not typical of you."

Tim sighed, and nodded.

"Yeah…"

"You must also realize that if it were you watching say, Master Richard, behave this way that you would be reacting just as he has with you. Correct?"

The teen hissed, and Alfred raised a brow at him.

"Wrong. He won't believe me. I would have believed him. I wouldn't have treated him like he needed to be institutionalized. I wouldn't have taken every last thing he had away from him, and I wouldn't have shunned him, replacing him with an irrational newer model. He hasn't listened, hasn't cared since- since…" Tim trailed off, not knowing what to really call Bruce's 'death', when he was not really gone, for good at least.

Alfred looked grim, and shook his head sadly.

"As much as I would very much like to believe that Master Bruce will return to us, I am afraid that it simply is not possible my boy. We have seen his body and we have laid him to rest. My heart aches not only for the loss of a man I long considered to be a son, but for all of you boys as well who have lost a man that was a father to you. I suggest for your sake, that you put those thoughts to rest, and concentrate on taking care of yourself. Everything will turn out fine; life must go on Master Tim."

Tim's shoulders slumped.

"Things will not be fine… he's trying to erase everything."

"He is merely trying to adjust, as are we all. No one ever said moving on was an easy feat." And with that, Alfred left the room.

Tim did not attend breakfast, nor lunch that day.

Alfred brought dinner to his room.

Tim left it sitting on the counter.

The days rolled on slowly. Tim ate when he absolutely could not stand the hunger pangs any longer. He did not enter the cave, did not train, and did not participate in detective work. Dick attempted conversations a handful of times, but learned quickly that Tim was not speaking to him. Damian intentionally sought to rile him up, and one night before he and Dick left for patrol, he had upset Tim so much, that the teen had launched himself at the younger boy, and they had tumbled down the main stairwell leaving both boys bruised and battered.

_"No one needs you. You are useless Drake!"_ would echo in his dreams in the nights to come.

It was the very next evening that Tim had been walking through the halls only to hear Dick on the phone in Bruce's old study. He had not even intended to listen in on the conversation, but he had.

"Yes, I believe it is imperative that we start as soon as possible. Every day it seems as though he slips further and further away from us. I'm afraid of what might happen, what he could do- Yes, thank you Doctor…"

Tim didn't need to be the genius he was to know what the call had been all about.

Dick was no longer willing to tolerate him. He was afraid that he might hurt someone. Probably Damian. He was now going to pass him on to some random shrink hoping for a miracle. Tim's problems were not something that could be fixed by some stranger. A doctor could not force Bruce's return, nor make Dick reconsider his choice of Robin, or change the fact that he had thrown him aside. Dick was going to end up getting him committed…

He returned to his room in a rush, not wanting anyone to discover that he had overheard the phone conversation. His head was spinning. He could not let Dick put him at the mercy of some stranger who could not even tell the truth to. He would NOT go see a doctor. Alfred and Damian's words repeated themselves in his head.

_"No one needs you. You are useless Drake!"_

"Take care of yourself. Everything will turn out fine; life must go on Master Tim…"  
  
He would have to leave, he decided.

It was his only option.

He would have to take care of himself.

They would not miss him, not for the right reasons.

Eventually, life would go on.

Tim left at 3:27pm the very next day.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A/N- That's it for today I'm afraid! Still a pretty long chapter though :D

I picture Tim's new Costume to be something very similar to his Red Robin Unternet variant. It works well considering he was working with retired Nightwing costumes and scraps, and the Unternet costume screamed of Nightwing influence. Perhaps the only alteration I'd make, is to have the red detailing 'Young Justice: invasion' Tim has on his pants. I like the red thigh/hip portions. Currently, it would not have the Red Robin insignia on the chest, as he is still unsure of exactly what he plans on doing.

From this point on, the story will move along at a slightly faster pace!

As you have likely noticed, flash backs have a tendency to appear as the next scene after someone falls asleep. That will likely continue throughout the story, but they will not always be Tim's flashbacks. I find the flashbacks as nice in-between scenes, and they're great for covering back stories that I could not work it elsewhere.

I've been enjoying the reviews, so keep them coming!

Hope you continue to enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 at last!

As you will see, time has begun to move at a faster pace now.

I would love to hear more about what you think of this fic thus far. I've not really been getting much feedback despite having a lot of readers so I really have no idea about what you like or dislike.

Very pleased with the amount of followers for this fic though! Glad I've kept your attention enough to have you wanting to come back for more :D

Sorry that these chapters are having longer gaps between updates, but his fic has a long way to go, and I plan on sticking with it so don't ever be too worried It just takes a lot more thought process in these earlier chapters to get the story rolling as there is minimal dialogue for the time being. We'll be changing that soon enough however!

Now totally unrelated to the fic… Show/Comic rants. Cartoon Network is evil. Hiatus until January on 'Young Justice Invasion', after we just had a long hiatus? Uhg. Guess I should be thrilled that 'Arrow' started up on Wednesdays so I have SOMETHING weekly to follow. DC's new series 'Talon' just started. Debuted with the #0 issue last month and issue #1 was just released as well. I thought it was off to a good start, and recommend it. It was enough to make me subscribe to it! Batman Inc. was pretty awesome this month as well with issue #4. Had lots of feels for Damian at the end of the issue though. You could just see how crushed and distraught he was. I think Dick needs to step in and have some choice words with the boy's father. Pronto, stat.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

He was not sleeping.

He had been living in his current safe house for five days now, and things had only progressively gotten worse rather than better. Sleep came in small fitful bursts, leaving him more drained than before he had even touched down on the poor excuse for a bed. He was thankful for the soundproof cement walls, as he was sure that his screams of anguish and fear courtesy of the nightmares would have given away his position to the warehouse employees by now. He had picked up a large case of energy drinks at the first sign of these problems. They were vile tasting, but at least they got him through the day.

He missed coffee.

He trained a decent portion of each day, bringing his body back up to par, and even going as far as somewhat surpassing his previous condition. He was careful not to bulk up and lose his agility, but he knew a slight increase in strength, even if minute, could mean the difference between life and death now that he would no longer have backup lurking in the shadows. The added weight of the bat-cape was no longer an issue, something he would be thankful for once he finally begun patrolling Gotham once more.

Tim was aware that he was not eating as much as he knew he should, but he could not bring himself to care. Without having a functional kitchen at his disposal, there was little he could purchase for sustenance, and between his sleep deprivation, waves of night terrors, and the bite of the fowl energy drinks licking at his stomach, he could feel his stomach churn at the slightest idea of a large meal. He ate enough, stayed hydrated, and that was all that mattered.

He could not stay there tucked away in the underground bunker forever. Sooner or later Dick and Damian would be making their rounds searching for him. It was not Dick's nature to leave things as they were, especially given the man's recent opinion of his mental stability. They had to be close to their breaking point, with a week of his absence being just around the corner, and surely they would check all previously established safe houses, figuring that he had sought refuge within one for the time being. Which he had. It had been the most logical thing to do while he caught his bearings and figured out a plan of action. That fact alone was the sole reason he had yet to go out on patrol. So as Tim sat upon the couch with his knees tucked up to his chest, he thought long and hard about where he ought to station himself. He would have to avoid setting up shop anywhere near Nightw- _Batman's_ typical route. Damian would likely still be forced to remain solely at Dick's side being new to the role, but being the typical rash sidekick, with a particularly strong sense of pride, he would likely waver on that rule somewhat on a regular basis. Therefor he would have to add several blocks to the boundary line in any direction to compensate for childish decisions.

Tim rubbed his temples, furrowing his brow.

Dick would centralize their patrol in the Downtown area (where Tim was currently located) where much of the larger scale events occurred, and the heavy hitters seemed to target. Home of the GCPD, Wayne Tower, Blackgate, the Tri-Corner, as well as the home of both Gordons. This would put him and Damian right in position to access much of Gotham's areas of interest. It was a very Bruce-like thing to do.

Tim decided that it was best to stay away from Red Hood territory, the Uptown District. Old Gotham and Crime Alley were always Jason's choice locations. Uptown housed the underworld of Gotham. Poverty, drug trade, child trafficking, and weapons deals. The docks on the East end were the seediest in Gotham, the island off the West end held Gotham Asylum, while up North housed Amusement Mile. For access to the crimes the ex-Robin considered most heinous, it was the perfect location to set up base. Although neither sight nor sound of Jason Todd had been heard since Dick had 'defeated' him, that meant very little. Their lot was no stranger to lying low and licking wounds while planning their next strike, and after dying once already, Jason was determined to live, even if just to make life hell for everyone.

Northern Gotham, on the main land, housed Wayne Manor, the airport, and Brentwood. He would not risk being so close to the cave, and traveling back and forth off the main land would be counterproductive as well.

Midtown would be the smartest choice, he decided. It was away from 'family', equal distance to both of Gotham's problem areas, and overall had a low crime rate. Much of Midtown was made up of average citizens. He would be able to blend in with civilians out in the daytime. He could establish a reasonably comfortable and thoroughly protected residence. The real question was where? The docks were simply made up of a plethora of industrial warehouses, and although practical for operations, Tim was looking for comfort as well functionality, which required a space fit for long term living unlike his current location. If he went too far west, he would be bordering Arkham's Island, and Midtown's center was primarily parks and gardens. That limited him to the Eastern section, before the docks, primarily made of condos, apartment complexes, and business buildings. Perhaps he could get lucky and find something high up but away from prying eyes?

Tim sighed and squeezed his eyes shut.

Finding the perfect location would be difficult without internet access. He would not be able to risk the library. He would be forced to invest in a computer earlier than planned, and hover at a coffee shop with Wi-Fi. Risky, but he definitely missed having a computer on hand, and coffee was always preferable over canned liquid energy.

He admittedly could use the small comfort.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

It had taken him an additional two days to locate a building and rental space to suit his needs. Not only had he searched for a building to fit his requisites, but he had needed to avoid taking the top most suited choices, less Dick be in the proper mindset down the line to start thinking 'Tim' enough to get the slightest bit close to tracking him down.

The complex was twelve stories high, primarily constructed of dark brick, surrounded on all sides by eight to ten story lots, though buildings down the street climbed as high as twenty stories in some locations. Perfect for exiting the building via grapple line, with little chance of being seen. It was an older establishment at the lower end of town, but still a relatively safe neighborhood. The fire escape was rusted and rickety looking, likely long since below code and unused for at least the past decade. The windows were large and wide, frames still strong and intact making them perfect for building side entry and security installation. Owner of the building, in his early eighties, lived clear across town, and was unlikely to make social visits if he could at all avoid it. Floors eight through twelve were currently vacant despite being the larger flats (top two floors even being single units) due to the elevator having not been operable in several years and most people not being in the proper shape to run up and down so many flights of stairs on a daily basis. This suited Tim nicely. It would be quiet, secluded, and he would remain entirely undisturbed.

Obtaining rights to the topmost floor had not been difficult. The owner had been ecstatic to rent out one of his higher floors and bring in more income. As expected, his ads for the upper floors had remained unanswered in quite a few years. The man had been concerned that he had requested the top floor, until they had met in person, and he had seen Tim's youth and athletic build. He avoided signing a lease and any additional paperwork, when he had offered to pay the first year's rent upfront, something practically unheard of in such parts of town, especially in cash. Tim gave the man the number to his recently acquired disposable cell (purchased directly for this reason) and the owner had seemed to get the right idea, and had left Tim with the keys, condo unseen, without even asking Tim's name.

It _was_ Gotham after all.

He had wasted no time in getting things situated. He left for the store by foot immediately, and purchased a plethora of cleaning supplies, four cans of off white paint, and a large duffle bag. He had taken a taxi back to the complex, and Tim had spent the entirety of the day bleaching and scrubbing his new home down, and giving it a fresh coat of paint. It had been more than he had hoped for. There was plenty of space, and for having not been inhabited for several years it was in fantastic shape. The water and gas seemed to be included in the rent, the plumbing was free of issues, and a quick phone call to the electric company gave him power. He felt a twinge of remorse for putting the account in an unsuspecting man's name, but so long as he paid the bill, and he would, there would be no harm done. He could live with that.

There were three bedrooms, two full baths, an office, a large kitchen with appliances included (of which he tested for functionality immediately), dining room, and living room. More than enough space, but at least he would not feel like he was smothering.

He left the windows of the apartment open to filter out the smell of fresh paint when he had returned to the safe house.

He packed his bags, remembering each and every purchase he had made over the course of the eight days since leaving the manor. He bagged his garbage up, and emptied the mini fridge. He moved the space heater back into position, and folded up the couch bed, readjusting the cushions. He scrubbed the counters, wiped down the central mat, and cleaned the wash area. At a glance, he made it look as though no one had been there. He hoped that whoever came looking for him left it at that, as if they checked the cabinet for weaponry and armor, or noticed that the blankets tucked back beneath the couch had been used, they would know he had been there and that he was currently armed. But at the very least he would be long gone and untraceable by the time they made that discovery.

He had decided against leaving the briefcase with his money tucked behind the couch, opting instead to purchase a safe at his earliest convenience and store it at his new dwelling. After thinking long and hard about it the past week, there was no doubt in his mind that Dick would search every single safe house they had in hopes of finding him. So he grabbed the case, his bag of trash, and the duffle filled with what possessions and supplies he had, and left the safe house for the final time.

He was now officially on his own.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"The PENGUIN Grayson! Penguin!" Damian roared, pacing back and forth in front of Dick's bed in the sick bay. "How could you let that revolting waddling excuse for aristocracy get the better of you!? Cobblepot should be the LEAST of our worries, and you let him gore you with his damned umbrella!"

Alfred cast a look over his shoulder at the boy and tutted before continuing his stitching of the man's thigh.

"Language Dami…" Dick sighed. "And to be fair, I was pretty preoccupied with the half dozen idiot goons bearing firearms. Usually the guy sits there cowering or makes a break for it. Wasn't expecting him to stab me while I was disarming and punching out the guy in front of me."

"Tt… do you even realize how idiotic that sounds?" the boy growled, rubbing a temple. "What if he had opted to eviscerate you rather than simply immobilizing you? You could have died. I could have been left to engage in battle, make my own way to safety, pitted against multiple armed assailants and a spear wielding gelatinous blob! Not that I cannot take care of myself, but that statement seems the such to get you to realize your mistakes and think about what may occur in the future if you do not put you head back in the game Grayson. You are being a pathetic emotional fool"

Dick sighed, watching as Alfred stood up straight, finished with his stitching, and made his way towards the sink. Damian glared at him, the spitting image of his father in that moment, and with a groan, he nodded.

"Sorry kiddo… I know I'm a mess. I'll be more careful in the future. I'm just worried. I screwed up, made things worse, and now Tim is out there all alone feeling betrayed and having delusions. He could be hurt right now, and we wouldn't know it. You have to understand what that's doing to me. Tim has been with us a long time, and despite however you may feel about him, he's a little brother to me just as much as you are. He deserves better, and I regret not seeking help for him earlier. I could have prevented this, but I was in denial. Tim has been so strong in the past. I thought he could handle anything. Just goes to show that we're all merely human, and there's always a breaking point." He muttered, running a hand through his sweat dampened hair.

Damian rolled his eyes at the man, and hopped up on the medical table beside him.

"Stop blaming yourself for something you had no control of. If Drake's absence perturbs you so much, simply start looking for him rather than sitting around feeling sorry about the whole debacle. It is bothersome when you cannot concentrate on patrol, and quite honestly, I would be… distraught… if you were to die- GRAYSON UNHAND ME!"

Dick chuckled as he pulled Damian into his lap and snuggled into his hair despite the child's thrashing.

"Resistance is futile! Every now and again a hug is needed, deal with it Dami." He sighed lightly as the boy dug his nails into his arms in attempt to release himself from the older man's ironclad grip.

"I do NOT require a hug! I have no wish to be coddled!" He snarled.

"Never said that _you_ needed one kiddo."

At that, Damian went limp in the man's arms and sighed, leaning back against Dick's well-toned chest in defeat.

"Very well Grayson… I will not deny you this simple comfort if you require it."

Dick's smile lay perfectly hidden behind the child's raven locks. Alfred's however could be seen by both boys as he returned with tea.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim spent a restless night on the living room floor, too tired to think, but too uncomfortable to stay rested. He managed sleep for only a few hours before reluctantly awakening and taking the time to sit down and map out what he would like to do as far as his dwelling layout went.

When the sun rose, and he was sure that stores would soon be open, he set out to buy furniture and supplies.

He purchased a small safe, a queen sized bed, a large dresser, couch, and large office setup built for heavy loads to start with, and scheduled them to be delivered later in the day. He would be spending most of the night lugging everything up twelve flights of stairs, and if he left any of it in the halls overnight, he was sure that it would not be there in the morning. Therefor he determined it in his best interest to make things a gradual process. There was no rush really.

Afterwards, he purchased all new pillows, blankets, and sheets, extended his civilian wardrobe, invested in an overabundance of medical supplies and toiletries, acquired blackout curtains to allow him to sleep during the day, and finished off with some light grocery shopping, thrilled with the fact that he would be able to have warm home cooked meal for the first time in what seemed like ages.

By the time he returned home, he was exhausted, and quickly filed away his groceries so he could sit and rest up while waiting for his phone to ring announcing the arrival of his deliveries. He lay on the hardwood floor staring at the ceiling nearly two hours before they arrived.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Six hours later Tim lay face down on his newly built, unmade bed, relishing in the knowledge that he had managed to bring all of the new furniture up all of those stairs. Granted, he had left everything but the bed in the living room, but what counted most was that it was his, and within his doors. With great effort, he heaved himself up off of the bed, and began to fit the sheets upon it. Several pillows and blankets later, he installed his curtains, and moved on to transporting the dresser into the master bedroom, careful to avoid any tacky paint.

It wasn't much, but it was home.

He set the office up next, building the high volume desk with ease. It felt nice to have his hands busy, and he was looking forward to purchasing his electronics, setting up his network, building his system, and installing security. The house was relatively bare, but he was in no rush now that he felt _safe_.

When all was said and done, he decided to indulge himself in the one major comfort he had been lacking the past week, a nice hot bath.

To say that he loved the master bath was an understatement. It was spacious, perfectly lit, had plenty of shelf and counter space, and the tub… oh yes, he was thrilled.

The claw-footed tub was large, sparkling white, and welcoming. The hot water seemed to rise at an unbearably slow pace, and Tim stood beside it shifting back and forth in anticipation several minutes after stripping his clothes off. When he was sure that the water would at the very least come up over his hips he slid in with a contented hiss and pressed his back up against the gradually warming tub wall.

He had missed this, the warmth.

He wasn't sure if he would ever opt for a quick shower ever again. Some things in life were definitely taken for granted.

He washed his hair, gave himself a much needed thorough scrub down, and lay in the tub until the very last ounce of warmth faded away before reluctantly pulling himself out of the water. He drained the water from the tub, and pulled a pair of sweat pants on before pausing to look in the mirror. He looked tired, he concluded immediately. The shadows underneath his eyes were beginning to rival Bruce's at the worst of times, and he was sure that if Alfred could see him now he would be getting one hell of a lecture about it.

He sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair, smoothing it away from his face. A long night's rest was in order. Perhaps then he could concentrate on putting his life back together.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Batman leapt through the darkness, running across the slickened rooftops, Robin at his side. It was raining again on this dark night, just like the night in which Tim had vanished without a trace. As they flitted across the rooftops, and dove through alley ways, he could not help but keep an eye open for the teen. He knew he had promised Damian that he would stay more focused, but truthfully, he wasn't quite sure that it was possible. The worry ate away at him. He was afraid that at any moment, he would find Tim splayed across a landing, injured, sick, dead… harmed by some villain that had gotten to him despite being simply 'Tim' and not 'Robin'. Afraid that at any time the Commissioner would be knocking on the manor's doors informing him, Dick Grayson, that they had found his brother's lifeless body in an alley… and Dick knew that if it should really happen, he would not be able to keep it together, and neither Alfred, nor Damian would be able to ease his guilt.

Such fears were not processed by Damian, who had been taught from birth not only to never fear death, but face it head on. There was no explaining his emotional attachment with Tim, who had 'abandoned' their family and 'disgraced' the memory of Batman, and the name of Robin, in Damian's opinion. Granted, Damian was improving with each day, but it would be a long time before he could act the slightest bit like the young child that he was and let people in enough to feel for them when injured, or grieve for them when lost.

Dick would have continued dwelling about this, and much more, if an explosion hadn't sounded in the distance interrupting his thoughts. With a sigh he spun in mid-air and reversed his direction.

"Robin, to the docks!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Safe was overrated.

He had woken himself with his own screams this time. The blankets tangled tightly around him, heart hammering within his chest as he fought to escape the bed. For a brief moment, he could not remember where he was. The smells were all foreign, the linens felt all wrong against his bare skin, and it was eerie quiet. Out of habit, he had rolled under the bed to access the situation, and after a long moment, when the silence carried on, he came back to himself and regained control over his world.

He was in HIS apartment. No one had kidnapped him. He was safe. No one was coming for him… there was no need to run, no need to hide. Everything was as it should be. And yet… it was not.

A whimper escaped Tim's throat, and with a frustrated shout he covered his face with his hands, forcing a sob back down his throat.

He had been a fool to stay in the safe house as long as he had. Without realizing it, he had been comforting himself with his surroundings. He had not noticed how much it had smelled like home, felt like home. Alfred's touch had been on everything surrounding him even if the makeshift dwelling space had seemed so empty and foreign to him.

He watched the sun rise from his bedroom window in silence from atop the bed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim spent much of the day store hopping and dropping off supplies at the apartment, concentrating on nothing but his needs as far as technology went. He wanted a security system up and running as soon as humanly possible, and he wanted to be able to keep track of everything going on in Gotham once more. It was important to be thorough, and purchase equipment from several different outlets to make the purchases seem inconspicuous to the retailers.

It was still damp and chilly from the previous night's rain, so he had dressed warm, and kept his hood pulled over his head. It made his more abnormal purchases less unnerving, as he doubted anyone saw enough of his face to guess his age or make him memorable.

He took the time to acquire other useful items while he was out for future use. He had been able to locate a decent quality collapsible steel staff down in the China Basin, along with several antidotes available on the black market that had cost him a pretty penny but would be able to replicate at a later time. A purchase made that he had not thought about prior to discovering it had been an older model, yet highly reliable police scanner, quite the find. With it, he would be able to keep track of Batman and Robin's nightly locations at the start of patrol and situate himself out of area accordingly. He would also be kept up to date with what the at large heavy hitters were up to, and know first thing when an escape from Arkham or Blackgate took place. Very useful, in his opinion, considering that he was now out of the loop and unable to rely on Oracle's reports.

After returning home for the last time after several hours of transporting goods, he plugged in the scanner and tuned it to the proper frequency, finding comfort in the constant rambling back noise the reports offered as he took to installing his alarms and locks. From the sounds of things, Dick nearly had Gotham back to its previous condition of criminal activity, the sort that they had dealt with before Bruce had- _left_ them. Not perfect, as there would never be such a thing, but daytime crime was back at its lowest, and from the sounds of things the nightlife was far from being as horrendous as it had been when Dick had first taken up the mantle. An improvement, but Dick could never strike the fear into Gotham's heart the same way that Bruce had.

Installing the alarms was tedious, complex work, but a necessary task. Wires, switches, and latches weaved around the inner frames of each window and his front door. Keypads were securely attached to all possible entrances and programmed to codes that made sense in his head alone. Cameras were installed outside the front door and all windows with feed linked to his laptop, the devices so small that you would have to really be looking for them to locate them. He bolted the safe into floor at the far corner of his room and immediately emptied the briefcase's contents within it, securing it with a loud clank as the door snapped shut.

The sun had nearly set by the time Tim had left the vicinity of the safe with the intent to start piecing together his computer system within the office. He had barely left the room when the background chatter over the speakers became frantic shouts and gunfire. He frowned stepping back into the room, and sat down on the bed, turning the volume up to better understand the current situation.

_"Suspect at large!"_

"_I repeat, several casualties –"_

"-does not have a vehicle, will be on foot in the area-"

"- appears to be an outside bust!"

"Backup requested-"

"- multiple parties injured, need medical assistance!"

"My god there's children-"

"-casualties were packing heat…"

"Batman in pursuit, stand down!"

"Civilians recovered report lone assailant in a red helmet-"

"I repeat, stand down!"

The uproar over the frequency went on for nearly twenty minute before the reports began to die down. Tim waited, hoping to hear whether or not the 'suspect' was apprehended by _Batman_, but he already knew the answer.

Jason, Red Hood, had resurfaced at last, brutally ripping through a safe house filled with armed men to release multiple young children that had been awaiting a fate worse than death.

Tim sighed and let his shoulders slump.

In one respect, he was glad to confirm that Jason had survived his fall, as they all had suspected, but he had hoped that he would have made an attempt to move on like everyone had apparently done.

So much for wishful thinking.

With a groan he lifted himself from the bed and left the room once again. Tonight he would set up his system and let the chaos induced by the Red Hood die down, but tomorrow night? Tomorrow he would go on his first solo patrol.

Batman and Robin were going to be decently preoccupied for a while._  
_  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Please note that locations may not be entirely accurate in this fic. In searching for a proper map of Gotham City, I've come across at LEAST five different versions, all of which have a different layout. So I suppose it's all in the eyes of the writer. I keep 2 maps from different official sources, that are pretty similar as far as layout goes, open at a time to get a relative idea and jot things out from there. The only major difference between the two is locations of certain homes businesses and buildings. Other differences are minor. One shows streets and major locations, the other shows business and landmark locations.

This is the map I use for locations- bostinno(dotcom) /2012/02/26/ in-case-youre-ever-lost-in-gotham-city-this-map-should-help-map/gotham_city_map/ Just take out the spaces and replace the dotcom. I believe it to be the most accurate source for businesses/buildings/homes as it was taken from inside the comics. The other map is constructed the same way, but of giant file size. Provides district names, street names, some locations, and is colored to show what is street and what is water. I don't feel the need to provide the link as the differences in locations will confuse some people, and it's really only for my reference (that and I have no idea what the source for it is.)

Very helpful.

So if I've confused someone who knows a specific map, I'm sorry!


	6. Chapter 6

Yeah… sorry about the wait, total accident! Not intentional at all.

Several things came up one after another. Chaos.

Things should go back to a more regular update schedule as of January!

Hope you enjoy!

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dick grumbled under his breath as he watched Alfred meticulously stitch the gaping wound on Damian's upper arm shut. The boy was unfazed, and sat through it without complaint, staring tiredly at the metal countertops lining the walls of the med bay. When the man finished his task, and left the vicinity to dispose of the mass of bloody cloth they had used to slow the blood flow, Damian turned his gaze toward Dick and rolled his eyes.

"It is merely a flesh wound. It will not hinder my ability to patrol, and will heal enough to not be bothersome within seventy-two hours. My tolerance for pain far surpasses that of your own. Such a minor injury was no reason to stop your pursuit of Todd to come fret over me, thus letting him evade capture once again." The boy huffed, and glowered menacingly at the man.

Dick sighed, and shook his head sadly.

"I wasn't going to just run off and leave you bleeding on a rooftop, regardless of the severity of the injury. Besides, the chances of catching Jason single handedly without a premeditated plan laid are incredibly slim, unless he WANTS to be captured. And that was definitely not the case tonight, as he so bluntly pointed out. He shot you on purpose. Again." He growled, blue eyes burning in frustration. "I don't understand how he can shoot a child and not bat an eye-"

"I am NOT a child Grayson!" Damian snarled, dropping down from his perch upon the sterile table, and stomping towards the man.

Dick's eyes narrowed.

"Unfortunately, regardless of how _mature _you seem to think your mind is, or how you were raised, you're still a ten- nearly eleven year old _child_. Nothing is going to change that fact, so get over it, little brother.

Damian hissed, and narrowed his eyes.

"Regardless… I still do not understand why anything Todd does never ceases to surprise you. He is a traitor to this _family_, and regards us ALL as the enemy, regardless of age or upbringing. In our line of duty, one cannot afford to take it easy on any opponent, regardless of age, relationship, health, or state of mind. Should at any time Pennyworth go rogue and turn against us, I would not hesitate to take the man out. I do not intend to insult, by the way." Damian paused, giving a curt nod to the man across the room.

Alfred chuckled, making his way back towards the pair.

"I take no offence in that decision, Master Damian. I would never wish any harm to come to _any_ of you boys, and if that was my intention, I would clearly not be of sound mind, and I give you full permission to do as you must to remove me as a threat."

"I don't like where this convo is going…" Dick groaned, casting a worried look at both Alfred and the boy. "Alfred is _never_ going to turn on us, and Damian, I don't EVER want to hear you talking about taking anyone out, especially Alfred, ever again…"

"Tt."

Alfred could only sigh.

Damian stalked out of the med bay with a huff and headed towards the stairs, presumably to bathe in the large tub within the bathroom adjoined to his room. The boy was practically appalled at the idea of their communal shower down in the cave, and avoided it when at all possible. Dick hoped that after he was clean the boy would choose to get some sleep, but he wasn't holding his breath. After all, why expect something from a child that he himself could not manage?

Not for his lack of trying. With Tim on the mind, sleep did not come easy. It would not help at all that Alfred had discovered a substantial decrease in the teen's bank account while they had been out on patrol. The bank held no record of the balance change, and it had happened at random without alerting them. There was no telling how long ago Tim had re-routed the funds, not with his particular skill set.

The new knowledge had hit him hard as Alfred had rambled on while prepping Damian for his bullet removal and stitches. The sinking feeling in his gut had only grown. With money, Tim could have gone anywhere, anywhere at all across the globe. He could only hope and pray that he had decided to stay in Gotham, but at this point he wasn't so sure.

With a groan, he shuffled into main chamber of the cave and made his way over to the computers, and collapsed down into large leather chair with a ragged exhale of breath. He stared at the screen in silence for a long moment, ignoring the various documents littering the expanse of it.

"Master Richard, I do hope that you will make an attempt at sleep shortly. I do not wish to find you slumped over the panel snoring again like I did yesterday morning." Alfred placed a worried gaze on him, and he squirmed slightly before him. "Not only is it worrisome that you are getting little to no rest, but I am not sure the controls can handle any more of your drool…" a small smile curled at the corner of the man's mouth.

"I'll… try. I can promise you that. But first, I'm going to make a quick call to Babs, see if she's seen anything new…" Dick trailed off, not daring to chance a glace behind him, knowing he'd crumble if he looked Alfred in the eyes.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Damian extended his arms backwards, stretching as he shook the water from his short spikes. The bath had been soothing to his sore muscles and had given him uninterrupted alone time to get his thoughts in order.

Chaos. Everything was chaos, and it was all _his_ fault. He would never forgive Tim Drake for abandoning Dick, if nothing else. Despite the man's promises to keep his head in the game, his overly attached nature made it impossible for him to hold concentration on anything but the missing teen. Something would have to give. He would either get severely injured in his distraction, benching him for an extended amount of time to give him time to get his head screwed on straight proving disastrous for the city, or Drake would need to be located, for better or worse.

Judging by the lengths the teen was taking at covering his tracks, he could only fear the worst. Past instances of Robins leaving the nest had rarely been success stories. Dick was the exception. Jason Todd had lost his life, only to return later a vengeful and murderous traitor. Stephanie Brown had gone back to her previous vigilante identity only to be murdered. He had little hope that Drake would fare any better. The odds were against him.

Damian could only say one thing for sure.

If at any time on patrol he and Tim crossed paths, he would bring the boy 'home' using any method necessary to get the job done. Past that, he was read to keep him chained up in the cave like a dog if it gave Dick back his peace of mind, even if that meant putting up with the loathsome teen with his snide comments and lack of respect.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I'm worried. Scratch that, I'm _way_ beyond worried Babs. It's been too long for him to just be blowing off steam. He's not coming back." Dick drew in a deep breath and released it shakily as he ran a hand through his hair. "He's not coming back, and he's all alone. I've failed him. I should have scoured the city looking for him the moment we knew he was gone. He could be anywhere. He could- he could be…"

Barbara grimaced and leaned closer to the screen with a sigh.

"Dick… I'm sure that he's just fine. He'll turn up eventually. No one is going to get the drop on that boy, and no one is going to find him unless he wants to be found. He's done a damned good job of staying out of view of my cameras thus far, if he is even still in Gotham at this point. Not to mention the YEARS he followed everyone without once catching our attention. He needs time to himself, to get a grip on what's happened in his life. When he has had a long moment to catch ahold of reality, he'll turn up."

Dick rubbed his temples.

"If you say so… you didn't see him Babs. You weren't there. He was distressed, reclusive, manic… Bruce's death was the final straw. He couldn't take it, and I should have been there for him. Instead, I made him even more uncomfortable, and then backed off, hoping he could handle things better if he had alone time. But it only made him worse."

Barbara watched the man slump pitifully into the oversized chair that she remembered Bruce fitting into like a glove with a small sad smile. Dick looked worn. The shadows under his eyes were so dark he looked as though he'd had them both blackened in a fight, and he even looked as though he could be several pounds lighter than he had been last time they had talked. The combination of losing Bruce, becoming the bat, and missing Tim was clearly taking a toll on the man.

"Take a breather. Make your way on over to the tower and have lunch with me. We can chat about random nothings, and I'll even let you take a nap, swaddled in blankets, snuggled up in my lap. How does that sound, hmm?" She smirked as a small grin inched its way onto Dicks face, and he propped his head up with a hand.

"You always know how to cheer me up, don't you Babs?" He chuckled softly at the screen.

"Always."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim grinned in sweet satisfaction for the first time in ages at the row of glowing screens as his system went online. Data flashed across the screens as it uploaded, and the dull electronic hum of the machinery gave off a low, consistent vibration. The plan was to hack into the cave's logs, as well as Oracle's surveillance system so he could take advantage of all that he had had access to in the past. It was fortunate that at one time or another he himself had contributed to their system setups, and so, he could easily get in and link up without ever drawing attention to himself. Barbara would be none the wiser if he continuously hijacked her signals and Bat-files could be duplicated and integrated into his own system for future use. But that long process could wait for another time.

With a content sigh, Tim made his way to the kitchen, fully intending to consume some form of sustenance before heading out for the night. The distraction of hunger pains was not something he wished upon himself during battle. Main reason Alfred had always sent them out on patrol with sandwich bags at the very least.

For sentimental reasons, if nothing else, that was precisely what he made. He ate the French bread sub sandwich, which consisted mostly of salad on bread, ravenously, making a mental note to remember to partake in such meals more often.

Tim left directly after sundown.

He shot a line from the roof of the complex directly onto the next lot over. He remained invisible in the shadows, and the surge of pride he felt at his choice of location was unavoidably strong. It was one thing to calculate the surroundings by sight alone, but the process of following through with plans and them being successful was another. He landed gracefully without a sound and tugged the line free before bolting off into the darkness.

Batman and Robin seemed to be sticking to the downtown area for the night, so sticking to the home turf of midtown sounded like a plan.

The kevlar weave fabric clung to his skin, and the bat-cape fluttered behind him as he leapt across the rooftops. For the first time since Bruce had left them, Tim felt alive. He had missed the rush of flying through the city, the wind against his face, rushing through his hair as he defied gravity. He missed the joy of tumbling through midair flips, just because he could.

He laughed a joyous whoop as his foot collided with jaw bone during an attempted carjacking, his first act of heroism for the night. Zip-tying the man, and dropping him with his legs bound in front of the nearest squad car had never felt so good, especially when the cop spilt his coffee at the sight of him.

He ruffed up a few drug peddlers as he made his way through the city, confiscating their goods dangling them off rooftops attempting to make them see the errors of their ways. A few might take his words (and dangling) to heart, but most would be back again tomorrow night, and he would not be as lenient.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dick could honestly say that the visit to Barbara's had not come at a better time. She had followed through with her promise, feeding him almost immediately all the while lecturing him about his slight weight loss, and how she was going to have Alfred up his calorie intake.

He had relished in the human contact she had offered him, allowing him to lay curled up in her lap, all while carding her slender hand through his hair talking about the good ol' days. He had fallen asleep sooner than he had liked, but he had clearly needed it. Barbara had let him sleep most of the day away curled up against her, and admittedly, Dick never slept as great as he did when pressed against another body when he was alone. It was times such as these he wished things hadn't gone south between the two of them, but he was thankful that they could still be so close after everything.

She had woken him up barely an hour before patrol was to start, feeding him a quick meal before he met Damian back at the cave and suited up. Alfred had clearly been able to see his rejuvenated energy as he didn't fuss over him going out upon his return. Damian was in an even poorer mood than usual if at all possible. Clearly _he_ had not gotten much sleep himself.

Even now as they leapt over roof tops and weaved through the city, the boy seemed in a particularly poor mood, and Dick could only shake his head and sigh.

Tonight would probably be one of those nights where he would repeatedly be calling ambulances and lecturing Robin about excessive force…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

He panted as he leaned wearily against the gargoyle perched in the shadows of the rooftop, clutching his side where he had been thrown into a protruding pipe by a particularly large thug with a serious case of roid-rage. The kevlar had held up to the challenge, but the muscles spasmed in protest, and he knew that the bruise he would find underneath the armor when he returned home would be large and painful, and a special sort of coloration. He had eventually brought the man down, leaving him for the police to find once he was long gone, but the effort he had put into his first night out would definitely be felt in the coming days. Physically, he would recover just fine. Mentally… things were not as solid.

The night had started off pleasant, with Tim feeling like things were eventually going to be back to normal. But typical life in Gotham, that feeling had slowly changed as the night progressed. Things were not normal. The streets were more violent than they had ever been just months before. Petty criminals were simple enough, but the oddballs were flat out dangerous, unrelenting. Several times he caught himself reaching for his nonexistent com, only to remember that he was flying solo, truly alone. The realization that there was no one there, that he may never have any sort of backup again, had set the gears a rolling in his brain. He learned quickly that it was best that he not think about such things mid-battle.

Dick had done a good job containing the problem, but things were not the same. Dick was not Bruce. He did not strike the fear into Gotham's underworld like their mentor, their _father_, had been able to.

Maintenance…

The way Batman and family functioned was maintenance, and without Bruce, the only _true_ Batman, that maintenance was faulty, at best. The criminals ran amuck. They acknowledged Batman's existence. Many still ran scared; others thought that Batman was slowly giving up. Dick could only play the part so well. He was not the Robin who had gotten by solely by pretending to be everything he was not, simply because he had to, to make the world right. Dick was not Tim. He could not force himself to play the part, pretend to perfection. Bruce had his own special sort of insanity, and Dick Grayson was not one that could sacrifice his own identity to take on the persona of man who was essentially his own unique functional case of bi-polar.

Tim had sacrificed everything to become Robin, a position he had never asked for, nor wanted. He became Robin because Dick refused to step up to the plate and put his conflictions in the past. Became Robin because Dick had thrown him under the bus, making Bruce consider him, all without ever asking Tim if that was what he himself had wanted. Tim had put on the suit expecting it to be a one-time deal, a way to show Bruce exactly what he needed, to show Dick that Bruce actually needed it, while rescuing the two stubborn men from certain doom. He had only been half successful. Alfred and he had prevented their demise, and Dick recognized the problem, solved it… and had thrown him to the wolves. He had been unable to get angry with the man he had hero worshipped for so long for volunteering him.

If Dick refused to return, who else would do it? Surely no one but Tim could have made things right. He knew how the dynamic duo was supposed to work. He knew Bruce's rules, knew his gear, knew how both the Bat and Bruce Wayne's emotions worked. He knew exactly where the grapples stuck, knew just the shadows to lurk in. Knew the patrol routes and problem areas. Knew about Jason and just what the boy's death had done to the man he sought to help. Tim was perfect for the job, the next best thing to Dick, and when Tim had taken the few brief moments he had to realize this at the time, he had known that it was something he would have to do. He could play that role, he could give Bruce back the small scraps of normalcy and sanity that he had had prior to Jason's death. He could make a difference, and in doing so, he wouldn't have to be himself any longer. He could just be Robin.

He had never wanted to replace Jason. Jason had been far too unique of a human being, special in his own way, torn between his need to make a difference in the world, his own beliefs, and the love for the one adult in his life that hadn't betrayed him or made life filled with fears. No, he had never intended to be Jason's replacement. He had only wanted to replace himself, and he had. He never let Bruce or Dick see him as he had been prior to that night. He slipped right into Robin like a second skin, and let him take over. He became everything that Batman had wanted, needed, in one short night. Gone was the timid Timothy Jackson Drake that was used to being invisible, that stayed holed up in his house alone whilst his parents ignored him and traveled across the globe for business and pleasure without him. Gone were the days where he would flit across rooftops just to watch and capture the perfection that was Batman and Robin, and eventually Nightwing. He wiped the awkwardness and self-loathing from his person, and shifted the need to be perfect for his parents in hopes they would acknowledge him, to the need to be perfect for Bruce. He lived on praise, and took criticism to heart, ever improving. He relished in the knowledge that the com-links were always on, that he was never truly alone, even if they were all silent. It had worked for him. He had bought his own hype.

And now?

Now he realized why things were so wrong, why it was so difficult to accept recent events, and acclimate to his new situation.

When Bruce- _Batman_, had left them, he had taken Robin with. Left Tim with nothing but himself, someone he had eagerly tried to erase from existence four years ago. Without Batman, there was no Robin, and the illusion he had created for himself had dissipated. He had regressed back to Timothy Jackson Drake, with his awkwardness, paranoia, lack of confidence, self-loathing, and seclusion. The fact that Dick had been unable to stand him in his true form had been unbearable. The shear shock that he could take Tim and replace him at the drop of a dime with Damian, who was somehow more desirable and trustworthy than him was baffling. Damian, who had been born and raised an assassin, who had killed an unknown number of people, and had flat out sough to kill him just because he apparently insulted him simply by existing.

The realization that Jason had been right, known all along that he was a fake- a _Replacement_, a _Pretender_, was unnerving. He felt exposed.

Things would never be okay. They would never go back to normal. He couldn't go back to the manor, he couldn't be in the company of his old frie- _comrades_, he no longer had a _home_ of his own nor his mostly absent parents, and without the safety net of his Robin persona, patrol made him a bundle of nerves, unconfident in his movement, and without the reassuring voice of reason in his ear he did not feel safe.

This was what he had been reduced to, and it had taken a single solo patrol outside his comfort zone to put his life's perspective on the ground before him.

The realization hurt deep within his chest and radiated through his shaking form. He sunk to the ground, back flesh against the statue, and pulled his knees to his chest breathing heavily, attempting to get a grip on himself.

For the first time in years, he felt small and insignificant. Terrified like he had been of heights back before he had mustered up the courage and nerve to follow the Bat and Bird into the sky for those perfect shots.

It wasn't something he was sure he could handle, come back from. But he had nothing left to do but try. Existing prior to becoming Robin had not killed him. There was no reason for it to do so this time.

It would be a long stressful road ahead of him as he built himself back up from the ground. He only hoped he could manage it on his own…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

That will be all for today! Good stopping point here and I'm sure you're all just glad to finally have an update as it's been so long.

Next chapter ought to bring in another face! Should have more character interaction down the road from here on out.

Hope to hear from you


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry for the wait everyone! At least it wasn't as long as last time.

A few bits of this chapter were a bit difficult to write for whatever reason, but in the end it turned out fine.

If you want to know when updates will happen, you're more than welcome to follow me on tumblr where I talk about my fics frequently among other things and I post fic art for my own fics as well as some other authors'.

_**vampykitty-kun. tumblr. Com**_ (just take out the spaces)

Enjoy!

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Tim lay on the roof of his building staring up at the smoggy night sky, completely at a loss of what to do with himself as is. Truth be told, it had been a very long time since he had last been 'alone' making his own decisions, and honestly, it had just been so much easier having someone telling him what to do. He had relished in being a follower, in not having to carry the weight of his world on his shoulders.

Quite bluntly, he missed Bruce, painfully so.

He may have come into the man's life in a very unorthodox fashion, all to save him from slowly but surely killing himself, but in actuality, he had done a lot to save Tim as well. He just neglected to see that until now.

He let out a shaky, ragged sigh, and covered his face with his hands. After a long moment, he slowly pried the black domino from his face, and rubbed at his tired eyes. He curled onto his side, and ran his fingertips lightly over his stomach and ribs, cringing as pain spasmed across the length of him.

What he wouldn't give to have the medication available back down in the cave right then…

With a soft groan, he pushed himself up onto his knees, and shakily rose to his feet before shuffling over to the edge of the fire escape, and making it down to his window. He punched in his key code, and wrenched the widow open, slipping inside.

Tim glanced around the semi-bare apartment, and slumped, breathing in deeply as he made his way towards the bathroom. He stared at himself in the thin floor length mirror, and slowly pried the suit from his body, letting cape and all crumple to the tile floor.

He hissed, turning slowly, examining the purple/black tie-dye that had become his side. He grimaced, running his hand over the expanse of heated flesh that reached from the start of his hip on up five or six inches, with a particularly angry area dead center of the discoloration. He would be hurting for days with this one.

He took in the rest of his body hesitantly, cringing at how dark the circles surrounding his eyes were, how pale he was from being indoors so long as of late, and how his ribs were starting to become overly visible from being undernourished for so long. Shaking his head, he stepped away from the pile of fabric at his feet, and slipped into the tub, turning the shower on full blast, fully intending to wash the night's worth of grime from his body.

Tim stood under the hot spray until the ache in his shoulders faded, and the water ran clear of soap. When he finally forced himself to leave the warmth, he wrapped himself in a towel, and made his way into the kitchen, where he packed himself an ice bag before retreating to his room. He turned the lights off, and pulled a pair of loose pajama pants on before sliding beneath the covers and curling in on himself. He pressed the bag of ice gingerly to his side and groaned, burying his face into the pillows.

Sleep would be hell.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Damian had begun drugging him, Dick had noticed.

He could not be angry, because the child knew what he was doing (the boy's knowledge of medicinal herbs and poisons never ceased to amaze him), and had his heart in the right place, but that didn't stop it from unnerving him.

He had been sleeping longer hours as of late, and any dreams that he had had (if any) had been uneventful, allowing him a nice relaxing slumber, instead of a fitful nightmare filled one.

He had consulted Alfred on the matter, only to be informed that Damian had flat out told the man what he was doing, meaning he hadn't been drugging his food without supervision.

That made it somewhat okay he supposed, as anything Alfred approved was clearly safe, and he was always awake well before patrol started.

The unnerving part was that the child had felt the _need_ to do such a thing in the first place.

He made a point of speaking to Barbara every other day now, since his little sleep over. She managed to always put him in a good mood and ease his anxieties away. Admittedly, going on patrol in a stress free mood had been improving his performance. That combined with the decent amount of sleep he had been getting had Damian less on his case, something he was grateful for, and Dick was no stranger to picking his battles. He would give them this one.

Barbara had still been unable to catch any sight of Tim in her feeds. At this point, Dick was sincerely beginning to doubt that the teen was still within city limits, which meant that no one was going to find him until he wanted to be found.

_If_ he wanted to be found.

Dick was not giving up, not at all, but presently it seemed as though there was nothing he could do but wait.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim spent the next few days resting his injured side, training, and planning out his next course of action. From that single patrol, he could tell that he was not yet ready to be going out alone when it came to taking down heavy hitters. He would have to learn his immediate area just as well as he had known Batman's patrol route before he could trust himself to not become overwhelmed again.

The silence that had become his life was deafening. He left the police scanner on at all times other than when he slept, just to hear conversation, and despite the anger he felt towards them, it was comforting to hear the police speak of Batman's ordeals as it reminded him that the life he once had truly had existed.

At times, he chanced a trip to a coffee shop in the daytime, careful to disguise himself in the off chance that Dick had set Barbara loose upon him. Despite the constant worry that someone would show up suddenly, these shop sit-ins were relaxing, and he was comforted by the company, even if no one was addressing him.

Years ago when he had still been living in his parents' home, he had wandered the city whenever he had not been in school. He was simply not used to complete and utter solitude.

He spent his nights roaming the area, memorizing every square inch, every hideaway, every darkened alley. Along the way, he did occasionally stop criminals he caught in the act, but nothing large seemed to be going down locally, something he greatly appreciated.

Sleep was something like a job now. It only occurred when he dozed off at random or he could no longer see straight, and never lasted long before he awoke fitfully, heart hammering in his chest.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Tim sat curled in a ball up near his headboard, knees drawn to his chest with his arms wrapped around them, head tucked down as he gripped at himself tightly. The nightmares had turned to warping past events to terrorize him.

He had dreamed of Damian showing up to take over the position of Robin shortly after Jason's death, making it so he had never had to step in as Robin. Shortly after, he had been found out by the tiny assassin, and had watched his childhood home burn along with everything in it.

Including himself.

Of course other nightmares, the ones that he had frequently including on this night, need not re-write history. These brought up bad and tragic memories involving his parents, his friends, and Jason. Nothing but endless, needless, death and horror.

He did not even noticed when his arms began to bleed, little crescent marks from his nails marring his pale skin.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Damian was smug, and he was _not_ afraid to show it.

In the end, he had won. Dick's performance rate had shot right back up after he had started sleeping more, dreamlessly, and he had things preoccupying his mind other than one Tim Drake.

He was far from perfect, but it would do.

Damian was convinced that Tim was not coming back, that he had left the city, and would be out of their hair for good. It was a pleasant feeling. In time, Dick would move on entirely, and the foolish teen would be nothing more than a lingering thought in the darkest corners of the man's mind.

Admittedly, he had been surprised when Alfred had immediately, without question, allowed him to drug the man's food. He had not scolded him, had not forbidden it, and had even gone as far as asking him what he was concocting, what the ingredients were, how it worked, possible side effects, and had then after his explanation assisted him in concealing the herbs from view and taste.

He had concluded right there that the old man was intelligent, reasonable, sneaky, and conniving, and overall a worthy member of the family.

Not that he would admit it if asked of course.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim had left to patrol hours earlier and had been scouring the city, mapping it out mentally as he weaved in and out of alleyways and between rooftops. His part of town was relatively quiet compared to Downtown and the Narrows, but that suited him just fine where he stood currently. He had stopped a few attempted muggings along his way, even thwarted a carjacking some fifteen minutes ago. He had helped a woman with a baby that had decided to leave her assumedly abusive husband get to a woman's shelter mere minutes ago, and was now doubling back for a second look.

He heard the shrill screaming just as he passed over an alleyway, nearly tumbling on his roof landing as he spun to look down. It took a moment to spot the source of the disruption, but when he did it floored him.

A heavy set man had a child backed into a corner, a little boy, perhaps eight or nine, and was beating upon him as he shouted obscenities. The child was able to do little more than screech and sob as he made poor attempts at blocking the man's blows. He watched in horror as the man paused in his assault to grab a wood slab off the alley floor, which he raised above his head. The child pled frantically with the man, revealing him to be the boy's father, before the man swung downward.

Tim was moving before he even realized it, and collided feet first into the man's back, sending him face first into the brick wall of the building across from them, all before the man could make contact with the little boy. The child wailed, sinking to the ground in a curled up heap as Tim launched himself back at the man, planting his fist into his face. He saw red. The stress, hurt, and pent up anger acquired over the past several weeks erupted within, and Tim let out a feral snarl as his fists connected with the bulky form repeatedly. In the back of his mind he faintly registered the sickening cracks and screams echoing from the body beneath him, but he did not stop, not until the beast below him became silent besides gasping breaths.

Tim eventually stilled, and sat panting before the crumpled mass, urging the adrenalin spike to cease. After a moment, he shakily reached out, checking for the man's pulse. He did not even register the strangled whine echoing in the alleyway as his own as the irregular beat faintly registered under his fingertips. By then, his body was vibrating as he checked the small boy over carefully, mumbling in a poor attempt to console the child.

He reached over and searched the man briefly, before retrieving a beat up cell phone from the man's jean pocket, and flipped it open. He dialed 911, the first time he had ever had to use the civilian number, and waited patiently until a woman addressed him.

_"911, what's your emergency?"_

"Midtown, dead-end alleyway of 5th and Hotir. Aggravated assault on a minor, aged around eight or nine years old. Assailant is the boy's father. Perpetrator has been subdued and is need of immediate medical attention. The child has a few minor contusions, as well as a plethora of bruising, and it would be wise to check him over for fractures, particularly ribs, scapula and clavicle."

_"Sir, who are you?"_ The woman urged over the line.

"I- I'm not really sure anymore…" He answered truthfully, giving a sad, weak laugh.

_"Sir, I'm going to have to ask your name-"  
_  
"And I'm afraid I can't answer that ma'am. 5th and Hotir. I'm already gone." With that Tim snapped the phone shut, and tossed it onto the man before giving one last weary glance at the child and bolting for the rooftops.

He vacated the scene quickly, and only stopped once he was several streets down, waiting for the sirens to approach and make it to the scene. It was only after he paused under the range of a street light that he was able to see the blood streaked and speckled across his front and arms. He gave an involuntary shudder as he stared down at his hands and his stomach flipped.

It had been too much.

He had gotten carried away.

And yet… he still felt that the man had deserved it. And that thought alone had him emptying the contents of his stomach on the rooftop.

Afterwards, patrol was no longer possible.

He made his way towards home, utterly disgusted with himself, racing across the rooftops.

A half hour later, Tim climbed through his window, breathing heavily, with his heart still racing. He secured it behind him, and made his way straight through the house, stripping as he went, until he arrived in the bathroom. He threw the shower on full blast and slid himself under the blazing heat, rinsing his face frantically before he began scrubbing at his body. The water was scalding hot, but he did not care, he was only concerned about washing away what little blood had seeped through the suit.

Tim sunk to his knees, breathing in deep gulping breaths as the water beat down upon his body, shaking despite the heat.

He felt so very lost…

It was not until all the heat had left the old pipes and freezing drops pelted down his back that he left the shower and confines of the bathroom.

Tim could not say how many hours it had taken to scrub the bloodstains out of his suit, and he surely did not sleep that night.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

After the previous night's ordeal, Tim had intended to waste away in bed all day and night, alone with his thoughts and the crackling droning of the police scanner lingering in the background. He was still shaken up, disappointed that he could lose himself so easily in the middle of an encounter, sickened by his lack of restraint and empathy in regards to the man he had sent to the emergency room.

But it clearly wasn't in the stars for him that night.

Batman and Robin had been dealing with a bomb threat down in the Tricorner yards with Gordon that had gone south. The threat had been valid, and the organization in charge was putting up quite the fire-fight.

Basically, they would be pre-occupied at least half the night subduing and chasing down every last participant.

That was how Tim found himself racing to suit up and make his way to the Downtown docks at the crossing of York and Oliver.

The frantic dispatch had come in over the radio, alerting the force to a mass robbery going on in one of the large dock-side warehouses. Contents of the warehouse included, but were not limited to museum pieces, military supplies, and aircraft parts.

Tim would not have bothered with such a crime so soon, but with most of the police's forces, and Batman and Robin all at the Tricorner, there was a good chance that the perpetrators would be gone with their stolen loot by the time anyone got to the scene. But that wasn't what had thrown Tim into action. Not at all. What had him rushing to scene as fast as he could swing was the identity of the head of the heist.

Harley Quinn had staged the entire thing, and had plenty of Joker goons on sight along with her.

With the Joker being MIA as of late, even as far as Quinn was concerned, no one had heard a peep out of her in months. Clearly that was no longer the case.

Tim could only assume that Harley had been keeping tabs on Batman and Robin just as he had, choosing to pull off such an event on a night where it would be impossible for the duo to intervene and foil her plans.

Which was precisely why she was shocked when he came barreling down from the rafters on his cable slamming himself into the men positioned beneath him. She screamed in fear as the cape billowed around him before shouting to her crew to attack, making a break for it herself.

He threw himself into battle, kicking and spinning, leaping and dodging as bullets ricocheted off the cement floors, and fists came flying at him. Although he was greatly outnumbered, Joker thugs were never the brightest henchmen, and he was easily able to evade their flailing and poor aim as he took them down one by one.

He eventually spotted Harley lurking up above on the platform of the second level, watching the scene play out before her. He grunted, slamming his shoulder into the man in front of him before face planting him into the cement and zip stripping him. The next man was throwing himself into his back before he could pay much attention elsewhere. All the same he called out to her.

"What is the point of this Harley?" He snarled, whipping his staff out to catch the bulky man in the knees, sweeping him off his feet.

Harley cocked her head, staring at him curiously for a fleeting moment, before she laughed heartily, and leaned over the railing in her position up above.

"Aww Bird-boy, it's good ta see ya! The only one anyone's seen lately is the kid!" she giggled. "People think ya bit the big one. Almost didn't recognize ya. Diggin' the new duds!"

"_Harley!"_

"Yeah, yeah… no biggie really! Just 'cause Mistah J's outta town at the moment doesn't mean Harley can't have a bit of fun does it? Girl's gotta get by. Got babies to feed at home, when they don't eat they get cranky, and boy can they sure pack it away!" She tittered, until she saw that anyone who had been left standing was currently bolting for the door, and that Tim was launching a grapple in her general direction.

She squeaked and ran for it, bolting across the platform as fast as her legs would carry her. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't fast enough.

Tim flipped over the railing and raced after her, pulling a bola from the back of his belt. He whipped it forward, snapping it around her legs, never pausing. She tumbled, skidding across the platform in heap with her legs clasped together. It did not keep her down long as she immediately sliced through the rope binding her legs, but it was enough time to allow Tim to catch up with the woman. Harley was up on her feet within seconds, and after determining that she could no longer run at this point, she flipped forward swinging at him, and dove between his legs. He flipped himself backwards, grabbing at her leg as he landed, forcing her to stop her escape once again otherwise risk injuring herself. She let up only long enough to wrench her leg back before she was wailing upon him once more and they exchanged heavy blows. For merely wearing spandex and ruffles, Harley could more than take a hit.

Perhaps all the time spent with the Joker had upped her pain tolerance.

It was then that things happened before he could even realize what he was doing.

Harley bolted to the side, cartwheeling alongside him in effort to evade him. He spun with her, moving forward as he went, and whipped his staff out to catch her. It slammed her full force in the abdomen, knocking the air from her lungs with a startled gasp, which soon turned to a screech. Her ankle twisted at the force, the leg buckling beneath her, and she slammed backwards into the rusted railing. Tim's eyes widened beneath his domino as the metal gave way with a sickening crack and Harley went with it.

He lunged forward frantically, just barely snatching ahold of her ankle as she fell towards the ground level far below. From their current height, if she hit the cement floor directly, she would easily break her neck if not die on impact.

The blonde screamed as she dangled below him, pleading with him not to drop her, to get her to safety, and Tim grimaced at the stabbing throb in his shoulder as her weight pulled at his tendons. He watched as she flailed, scrambling to get a handhold on something, anything to drag herself up with. The jester hood slipped backwards, spilling disheveled blonde hair about her face, pigtails bouncing about.

He groaned, testing the strength of the nearest platform beam before latching his foot behind it. He braced himself with his free hand, and wrenched his arm up inch by inch, the muscles straining in protest at the awkward angle. Harley stilled briefly, staring up at him with wild eyes, before she kicked up with her other leg, allowing Tim to grab hold. His chest slammed into the platform roughly without the free hand to prop him up, and the air left his lungs with a sharp gasp, the side injury from the week before jolting in protest. He threw his strength back into his legs, using them to hoist them back up over the ledge, slowly but surely. After what seemed like hours, Tim managed to drag the woman up over the ledge, and they both collapsed on their backs panting heavily. The muscles in Tim's shoulders spasmed at the release, and he reached up shakily, rubbing the arm that bore the brunt of the weight the longest. The blood rushed from his head back into the rest of his body, and the odd sense of vertigo slowly slipped from his head.

The two lay there for some time, silent other than their ragged breathing, until the sirens could clearly be heard approaching at a rapid rate. Harley let out a startled whimper, and sat upright, wincing as she rolled her ankle. With much determination, Tim pulled himself upright, and dragged himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as he reached a hand out to the woman.

She stared up at him awkwardly, letting out a shaky laugh before clasping her dainty hand around his. She stumbled once upright, testing her weight on the battered ankle, and sighed when it decided to hold her upright.

Tim suddenly felt sick, and swayed on the spot, body vibrating as he breathed in heavily.

_He could have killed her._

For the second time in two days he had over done it.

She watched him wearily and groaned as the sirens got ever closer. With a sigh, she reached up and pulled the hood back over her head, a few straw colored strands poking out around her face.

"I suppose ya gonna take me in, huh bird boy?" she murmured, adjusting one of the cuffs on her wrist.

When Tim gave no response, she met his gaze.

The teen only shook his head and stood there trembling whilst trying to catch his bearings.

Her blue eyes widened at this and she stared silently, looking him over. It was only then that she realized just how much he had changed over the last few months, and not just in costume. He looked tired; worn. The boy had lost weight, not too much, but enough to be noticeable, and he genuinely looked terrified at present, even with the mask on. The sudden realization that the boy had barely spoken throughout the entire ordeal and was now letting her go free after her near death experience had the dread seeping up into her chest.

Something was _very_ wrong.

She knew the signs, and as much as she _knew_ that she shouldn't care in the slightest, quite suddenly she did.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she stepped back towards him.

Years of psychiatric training had never quite left her mind. It had been a part of her for so long, far longer than 'Harley Quinn' had been, and she found those old emotions surfacing as she stared at the listless boy before her.

"You okay kid?" She murmured, reaching out towards him.

He flinched as she addressed him, but did not respond, only continued to stare ahead of himself blankly, lost in his own thoughts.

Harley swallowed against the tightness in her throat, and closed the distance between the two of them, gently brushing her gloved hand across his cheek. He shuddered, but did not protest at the action, did not pull away. She paused hesitantly, hoping for some reaction, before she slid a finger under the edge of his mask, and gently pried it up.

Tim's breath hitched in his throat as she worked her way around the edges, carefully slipping under the adhesive, and stiffened as she pulled the domino away from his eyes.

The two locked eyes, both searching, seemingly simultaneously asking 'why?'

_Why was she suddenly worried for him?_

_Why was he letting her go free?_

And neither could answer truthfully for they did not know themselves.

Without explanation, Harley suddenly moved closer, and wrapped her arms up around him, squeezing him tightly. Tim whined in the back of his throat at this action, and it only made her hold him tighter.

"Whatever it is Bird-boy, it'll get better." She murmured, rubbing his back. "Always does hun…"

He slumped against her, breathing raggedly as her fingers coursed up and down his back, and she sighed worriedly.

With one last quick squeeze, she pulled away, stuffing the domino into his hand, before dashing off through the warehouse.

Tim drew in a ragged breath, and pressed the mask back to his face, suppressing a shudder before he too made his way through the building. As he exited through the roof, he could see the squad cars just then arriving as he leapt away, making his way back through the city.

Harley had seen his face… and he could not bring himself to care. He had relished in those brief few seconds of human contact, even if it had been someone he should consider highly dangerous just by who she associated with. That was what he had been reduced to.

He should be terrified of the complications this could bring. But somehow… he felt sure that she would not be a problem. But only time would tell.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


End file.
